


Big Plans (For the Fish at the Whistle Stop Cafe)

by besully (Briar_Elwood)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (including "n-" word and KKK), Cannibalism, DCBB 2014, F/M, Fried Green Tomatoes AU, M/M, Mouth Watering Southern Greasy Food, No previous knowledge of FGT necessary, Past Child Abuse, Period-Typical Racism, Physical Abuse, Rated for Abuse/Racism, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:32:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2558099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Briar_Elwood/pseuds/besully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tale I tell is of two men--the stubbornly rebellious Cas and his friend Dean--who ran a little place in Whistle Stop, Alabama back in the thirties. It was a good Southern cafe offering good barbecue, good coffee, all kinds of love and laughter, and even the occasional murder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually apologize for these sorts of things, but I want to maybe have you be a bit prepared. If you know the book or movie “Fried Green Tomatoes” you should understand where I’m coming from a bit more. (If you don’t know the book or movie, I highly recommend you fix that.) Sam, in this fic, fills the role of Buddy. Avoiding spoilers, the way I’ve written the situation with Sam is as close as possible to “Fried Green Tomatoes”. Believe me, it was a hard decision. But without that event, there isn’t much of a story so I kept it in. To all Sam-stans, I do apologize (I’m romantically involved with a Sam-stan so I know how you feel). I hope everyone will recognize the necessity of the situation and forgive me.
> 
> This story takes place in the Deep South in the 20s-30s. Therefore there is blatant racism, and I use the language of the time. The Novaks have “colored people”, and I kept race from the show consistent (which made for some difficult casting as there are so few African American characters). And you see, even if it would make sense if I changed things around a bit, the culture of the Deep South in that time period is fundamental to the story. Prohibition is current, smoking is something everyone does, the KKK is rampant, good greasy food is part of the daily diet. The culture is warm and jovial yet incredibly offensive, and I’m not dialing that down in the slightest.
> 
> Thank you to both Deanna and Fated (deannawincester and fated13th) for beta-ing.

If you have never been to the Deep South (Alabama, Louisiana, Georgia, the like) let me first say that you’re missing out. There’s a charm and a beauty there you’ll never come across anywhere else. I’m not saying it doesn’t have its problems because the skeeters will drive you mad, but you win some, you lose some. Point is the Deep South has a magic long embedded in it. Call it hoodoo, call it fried cooking, call it what you want. It’s magic and no one can deny that.

This story is about strength. This story is about loyalty. It’s about friendship and family. Mostly it’s about love.

* * *

Even if you do know the South you’ve probably never been to a little town by the name of Whistle Stop, Alabama. You may know the name Cas Novak, though. If you’ve ever met him... well, you’d remember him to say the least. He was a character. One of those personalities that just shines bright, maybe brighter even than the sun itself. Everyone loved him. I just can’t believe people thought he killed that woman. Sure, you never met someone so fiercely protective, and there was no one Cas was more protective of than Dean Winchester but--Oh. I suppose I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?

Castiel Novak met the Winchester brothers in 1914. The war had just ended. You know, the Great One. The one that was supposed to end the world. But it hadn’t. Cas was eight years old at the time, youngest of seven, and rather bitter about it. Eight was too young to be taken seriously and youngest of seven meant being forgotten by parents and picked on by siblings. So Cas did everything he could to discourage these things. You know the type. Born trouble-maker.

The Winchester brothers came into the picture on Cas’s older brother’s wedding day. Zachariah Novak had soundly threatened Cas numerous times in fear of his little brother ruining his wedding. Not that Zach was particularly excited about getting married, but he was quite concerned about what folks thought about him. Practically the entire town was there, the crowd buzzing for the chance to eat the renowned cooking of the Novaks’ colored woman, Missouri. It was fairly easy for Cas to slip away once he could no longer stand the itch of the suit he’d been forced into.

Cas went immediately for the train tracks, shedding articles of clothing as he went. His momma would be upset over the loss of another suit, but that never really concerned Cas. Before he got to the tracks, however, he came across a couple of boys by the river. One was sitting with his feet in the water, shoes forgotten beside him. The other, younger and with shaggy hair, seemed to be frustrated with the first.

“C’mon! I wanna try some a that cake, it looked great!”

“Bring me a piece,” the older boy said lightly, splashing a bit. “I hear that Missouri woman is magical.”

“Deeeean,” the younger whined, but Dean only shook his head.

“I ain’ sittin’ in a stuffy church with a buncha people who keep lookin’ sideways at us ‘cause they dressed fancier.”

“You don’ needta worry ‘bout that anymore,” Cas offered, coming closer. Both boys looked up with a start. "'S over anyway," he said with a shrug. The younger looked quickly at Dean, like he wasn’t sure how to react and needed the older boy’s guidance.

"Cas," Cas said after a few quiet moments and stuck his hand out. The boy took it and smiled.

"You Castiel, ain' you? I'm Sam."

Cas shrugged at the recognition. He was used to it. This boy though--Sam--was something Cas had never encountered. He couldn't even put his finger on what it was, he just knew there was something about Sam he liked and wanted to investigate further.

"I'm Dean," the older boy said, thrusting his own hand toward Cas. "Our parents're John 'n' Mary."

Cas glanced at the hand before taking it. John and Mary. Had to be the Winchesters. Momma and Mary Winchester were friends from when they were kids, before Mary had married John and moved to Georgia. Cas had never met any of the Winchesters before since Georgia was such a drive, but Momma got letters from Mary and the last one was right after the war had ended. Right when John got home, and Momma went on this tirade after reading it. Cas only heard it through the closed door of his parents bedroom, but he heard enough to be wary about John Winchester. But that didn’t mean he had to be wary about Sam and Dean, right?

"So the weddin's over?" Sam asked, and Cas looked back to him and nodded. Sam sighed, turning his attention to Dean. "Looks like you lucked out."

"Good. Let's go down to the river then."

“But whatta ‘bout the cake?” Sam asked quickly, looking at his brother with wide eyes. Dean shrugged.

“It ain’ pie.”

"You ever been ta the river ‘fore?" Cas asked curiously, directing the question to Sam. Dean was the one who answered though.

"No," he huffed. "That's why I wanna go."

"Wait," Sam said quickly, turning his wide, bright eyes on Cas. "You been down there, Cas?"

Cas nodded.

"You be our guide!" Sam exclaimed. "Show us the best spots 'n' everythin'."

So Cas did. He showed them the frogs in the reefs and the moss growing on the trees. He told Sam about the slaves that travelled north across this very river. He even told Sam about the fish who lived in the river and the angel who had been warned not to step on the fish.

"Big plans for that fish," Cas said.

"What kinda plans?" Sam asked. Cas shrugged.

"Big 'uns. Fish turned into your grandpa, I heard."

"My grandpa?" Sam laughed. "Cas, that doesn' make sense!"

Cas could only grin. Sam's laughter was beautiful.

Cas showed off when they crossed the bridge over the railroad by walking on the railing and pointed out the tracks below. Sam was nervous at first, telling Cas that he was gonna fall, but Dean laughed and called Sam a little girl. Sam glared at his brother briefly, but both brothers ended up behind Cas to try their balance as well. They both seemed to be doing fine until Sam's arms started whirling wildly, and he was suddenly flat on his face down on the bridge. Dean and Cas jumped down quickly on either side as Sam rolled over with a low "oof".

"You're bleedin’," Dean hissed. "Dad's gonna kill me."

And it was true Sam was bleeding, but it was only a bloody nose. Cas pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Sam.

"Broke my arm once fallin' the wrong way here," he said. "You'll be fine."

Sam smiled wryly, pressing the handkerchief to his nose. "Thanks, Cas."

"You broke your arm?" Dean asked, eyes wide with admiration. Cas shrugged. It hadn't been a big deal.

"Oh!" Sam cried as a great gust of wind yanked the handkerchief out of his fingers. It blew over the bridge and down to the tracks, fluttering tauntingly.

"Shoot," Sam grumbled, getting to his feet. "I'll get that for you, Cas, I'm sorry."

Before Cas could protest (really, it was just a rag, and he could easily get another one) Sam had already scrambled down to the tracks. Both Dean and Cas got back to their feet to watch from the railing. Sam walked along one side of the tracks, grinning up at them because he was doing a lot better at keeping his balance. He snatched the handkerchief from where it had caught and waved it at them. The distant sound of a train's horn reached their ears.

"Get off the tracks, Sammy!" Dean called. Sam gave them a tense smile and nodded, but he didn't move. The horn blew again, the rumble of the cars getting steadily louder.

"Sam, you idiot, get off the tracks!"

Cas felt his heart thud painfully in his chest as he frowned at Sam. "His foot," he realized. "He's stuck."

They could see the train by that point, the horn blasting it's warning as it chugged closer and closer.

"Sammy!" Dean screamed, starting to run for his little brother, but Cas grabbed him by the elbow. It was too late. All they could do was watch.


	2. Chapter One

There is a unique kind of connection that forms between two people when they experience a tragedy together. But Castiel hadn't seen Dean Winchester since Sam had been hit by that train. Most of the time Cas forgot that summer even happened. At least, he tried. Pretended. It was easier. You know, the heart can be broken, but it still keeps a-beating just the same.

Instead Castiel spent his days and nights at the club by the river, enjoying the company of other “no-good scoundrels” (as his mother put it) like Charlie Bradbury. Miss Bradbury was the red-headed beauty who practically owned the joint, and she was a firecracker. She always wore colored beads and bright red lipstick, even when she went fishing. She was loud and cheeky, gambled better than any of the men and drank and smoked more than they did too. But that was never anything that anybody got angry about because she also entertained anybody and everybody on a private basis. She never had with Castiel, but Castiel was fine with that. Had no interest, really.

When Cas wasn’t at the club, he was either fishing or fetching honey or just generally enjoying fresh air. He barely spent any time at home and hadn’t for years. A couple nights after the Winchesters had gone home to Georgia taking the broken body of the littlest boy with them, Big Victor, the Novaks’ colored man (and Missouri’s son), showed up by the river where Castiel had been hiding ever since. Cas didn’t say a word when Big Victor showed up, and neither did Big Victor. He just built a fire and wrapped a blanket around Cas’s shoulders and sat by the boy through the night. Big Victor was probably the only reason Cas hadn’t done something really stupid back then (which isn’t to say Cas didn’t do stupid things--he was always doing stupid things--I just mean something really stupid). Big Victor took care of him because Big Victor was the only person Cas would let take care of him.

A couple days into the camp out with Big Victor, Cas’s two closest siblings showed up by the river, shivering and wet. It had been raining for a couple days now. Muriel and Inias had snuck out of the house, worried about their little brother. They tried desperately to convince him to come back home, even trying to enlist Big Victor’s help (though the man stayed patiently quiet). Cas wouldn’t hear a word. He knew if he went home his momma would be all over him, tutting and fretting and giving him hell. He wasn’t going to have that. Not just yet. But he let Muriel and Inias stay for a while, warming up by the fire, before Big Victor shooed them on back home.

But the point I was trying to make was Cas was happy. His momma kept trying to get him to stay at home and be a proper young man and all that, but there was nothing she could do about it. And really, Cas came from a big family so he was barely missed. It was just his momma, Muriel, and Inias. His other siblings had lives of their own and knew better than to worry about him, and his father had too many other things he was focused on to notice one of his children consistently missing. Cas lived a carefree life and was quite comfortable. He didn’t let things like a child’s crush hang over him.

The summer of 1924 interrupted that security like a baby during a sermon. He was at the club by the river, and Miss Bradbury was in the middle of trying to convince Cas to join the poker game in the corner when the door opened and in walked a stranger. This stranger was bowlegged and freckled with bright green eyes that twinkled in the dim light. Those eyes landed on Cas almost immediately, and the stranger broke into a grin.

"Cas Novak!" he cried loudly, walking towards him. Cas squinted at the stranger in confusion, wondering how he could possibly know Cas's name. Even Miss Bradbury looked wary, glancing to where the town Sheriff, Benny Lafitte, sat watching from one of the booths by the wall. The stranger didn't notice the tension though and strode up to Cas jovially.

"Your momma told me you'd be down here. 'M supposed to bring you back home, but I don' think I'm gonna. That a poker game over there? Wanna join?"

Cas continued squinting at the stranger, as if if he stared long enough he could divine the stranger's name out of thin air. The stranger seemed to realize the lack of recognition.

"Dean!" he said, voice just a little too loud. He sat down in the chair across from Cas, still grinning ear to ear. "Dean Winchester! 'M stayin' with your family for the summer. Supposed to find work 'n' everythin'." His grin finally dimmed into a frown, and he stared at Cas critically. "Didn' your momma tell you?"

Honestly, she probably had at least tried to. Cas didn't pay much mind to anything anyone in his family said. He just didn't think anyone in his family had anything to say worth saying. But that wasn’t what Cas was thinking about at that particular moment. He’d stopped listening after the stranger had announced his name, having been shoved rudely back to that summer all those years ago. It wasn’t fair.

Dean shrugged when Cas didn't reply. "Anyway, so how 'bout that poker game?"

* * *

News always traveled fast in the little town of Whistle Stop, Alabama. News, for example, that the older brother of that little boy who died about ten years ago had come to live with the Novaks for the summer. People talked about how awful that tragedy had been and what a scene that John Winchester had made yelling with bloodshot eyes and red face, dragging that wailing boy with a viselike grip on his arm. That poor boy had seen everything, the terrible accident, and had to have been completely traumatized. If Mary and Naomi weren’t such good friends.... And did you hear that poor boy turned into a pretty good kid, and Naomi was hoping this Dean could knock some sense into Cas. What a thought!

When Cas overheard this talk, he was furious and wouldn't talk to Dean for almost two days. That ended when Dean finally managed to corner him and tell him bluntly that Cas was an idiot. He said that sure, yeah, he was a good kid as far as his parents knew, but he sure as hell enjoyed a good poker game and some decent moonshine. Dean was really looking forward to raising hell in Whistle Stop, he said with a mischievous grin, and he needed Cas to be his partner in crime. Cas didn't quite know what he thought about raising hell. He usually just did whatever he wanted, other folks’ opinions be damned. But raising hell with Dean sounded kinda fun. So he smiled in response and told Dean he had something to show him that night after everyone else went to bed.

That night when the only sound was the cicadas singing their song Cas quietly snuck into the room Dean was staying in. Dean sat up from where he had been pretending to sleep, eyes bright and excited.

"So where we goin'?"

Cas smiled slyly, secretly thrilled to be the reason Dean's eyes were shining so bright. "Wait 'n' see."

"Oh, it's a secret," Dean whispered as he pulled his boots on. "Nifty."

Cas led him out of the house and down to the tracks. As they neared, Dean's excitement started to die down.

"Cas...."

"Trust me."

Apparently Dean did because, though he still seemed jittery, he quietly continued to follow the smaller boy. Cas came to a stop. Dean looked uneasily between the tracks and his friend.

"Cas--"

"Patience."

The night was quiet, as quiet as a summer night in Alabama could get anyway, and muggily hot. Dean jumped when a train's horn broke through the cicadas' song, but Cas smiled.

"Get ready."

Dean looked slightly alarmed. "For what?"

"We're gonna get on."

"...It's not stoppin', is it?"

"Nope."

The train was in sight by that point. Cas's eyes were wide with anticipation. Dean looked like he was about to be sick.

When the train chugged by, slow and steady, Cas jumped into one of the open cars at a run so easily it was clearly a practiced motion. Dean only followed on some instinct to stay close to Cas and had to try several times before Cas managed to help him climb in.

"You're insane," Dean gasped from where he lay on the floor. Cas's only answer was to tug him to the back of the car.

"C'mon. That wasn' even the best part."

Dean groaned as he was pulled to his feet and frowned when he saw the cargo. "Cas, this is food."

"Yuh-huh."

"Are we stealin' food?"

Cas grabbed a few cans and made his way back to the open doors. "Yep. Not for us, though."

Dean followed, staying further back. "For who then?"

All of a sudden their view of thick, green trees vanished into a sort of village made of lean-to's and cardboard boxes. There were people, blacks and whites, and as the train sped past they all looked up eagerly. Cas turned to grin back at Dean.

"Them." And he tossed a can of food to the waiting crowd.

The effect was immediate. People scrambled closer to catch the food as Cas threw bags of potatoes and cans of fruit. Their faces lit up with cheers and laughter, some digging into the spoils as soon as it was in their hands. Children ran alongside the train, racing each other. Dean couldn't help the grin that grew on his face. It was catching. Watching Cas light up, more animated than Dean had ever seen him, was something incredible, and soon he joined Cas in throwing food to the hungry.

In a flash the train was back in the woods, and Dean sat down among the cargo with a huff of laughter.

"I heard somethin' 'bout food goin' missin' on trains 'round here. Benny thinks he’s some colored boy, don’ he? Never figured it was you."

"'S you now too," Cas replied with a grin. Dean tried to meet the grin, but it was shaky. All of a sudden he was aware of the rumble of the train again, and it’s ominous whistle rang in his ears. Cas’s grin turned a little less manic, and he reached out to help pull Dean back to his feet.

"Roll when you hit the ground," he told Dean, still gripping his hand. "That way you don' break an ankle or somethin’."

Dean nodded tightly, and Cas gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "You go first. I'll be right behind you."

* * *

Railroad Bill was the nickname the good folk of Whistle Stop used for the mysterious thief. Secretly it was really a joke. Course, no one sniggered about it to Sheriff Lafitte’s face but as soon as his back was turned? Cas was especially amused, as you can imagine, considering he supposed he could call Benny a friend. They got along well enough, anyway. And, anyway, Benny wouldn’t have been so riled up about Railroad Bill if it weren’t his job to catch the thief. Everyone in Whistle Stop knew the food was meant for people with plenty. It wasn’t really a big loss.

Most people didn’t actually even know where the food was going. The people who did were those with ties to the people benefitting from the robberies. People like Missouri and Big Victor. The morning after Cas had introduced Dean to the sport Missouri and Big Victor were chattering away excitedly about that night. Cas had already dragged Dean out of bed, and they were stopping in the kitchen on their way out the door.

“...they’s got ‘nuf ta worry ‘bout down there wifout starvin’,” Missouri was saying, brandishing a skillet. “I jus’ glad someun’s doin’ somethin’. Mista Cas, whaddya think you doin’?”

Cas flashed Missouri a bright smile, withdrawing his hand from the still hot bun he’d been reaching for. “Just gettin’ some food, Missouri.”

Missouri’s dark eyes flicked between the two boys suspiciously before pointing the skillet dangerously in their direction. “You two be makin’ trouble, I cain smell it.”

“No more than usual,” Cas assured her with a grin, snatching a couple buns and stuffing all but one in his shirt. That one went straight into his mouth as he scurried away from Missouri’s skillet, Dean close behind.

“They don’ know, do they?” Dean asked later that day as they munched on the buns. Cas looked at him in confusion, mouth bulging with bread.

“Missouri ‘n’ Big Victor. They don’ know it’s you.”

Cas only smiled impishly.

* * *

They got on the train almost every time one with the right supplies went through town that summer. It never got easier for Dean, but that wasn’t going to stop him. He’d just quickly suck down a cigarette beforehand so he’d be less jittery. During the day they would drink and gamble (or Dean would in any case) at Miss Bradbury’s club or cool off in the river. In a lot of ways, Cas kept doing what he’d been doing for years. Just now he had someone to do it with. The two boys barely spent any time apart. Dean did get Cas to spend more time at home and in town, but Cas barely even noticed the change. Whistle Stop noticed. And the Novaks noticed too.

There was one night during supper, when Gabe--Actually, let me back up. See, Dean was fine with taking some food out to snack on during the day, but he liked his good old home-cooked meals. Mary Winchester had spoiled him with that, and Missouri’s cooking was just as good. So most nights, unless there was something big going on at Miss Bradbury’s (a good poker game or something), the boys were at home for supper. Cas had resisted at first, but after seeing how Dean glowed when he had warm homemade food in his belly, he gave in and simply sat there silently as he ate. If he didn’t bring attention to himself, he figured, he could make it through the meal without any incidents. It worked, actually, for a good long while.

But as I was saying, there was this one night during supper, when Gabe was being his usual holy terror self (Gabe, unlike Cas, was a lot louder about his rebellions, and therefore, mercilessly teased the littlest Novak), and Cas wasn’t paying any attention to anything beyond the crinkles next to Dean’s eyes.

As usual with a family of seven kids, the conversations were loud, excited, and overlapping. But during one of those lulls in noise, the end of Gabe’s sentence rung out clear enough that no one could ignore it.

“...Cas is so in love with Dean he don’ even notice.”

The effect was immediate. The tension in the room was buzzing as everyone turned their attention to where Cas was sitting stiff as a board, a manic look in his eyes as he stared at Gabe. Gabe glanced around briefly like he was looking for backup before smirking at Cas and shrugging.

“What? ‘S true. You follow him ‘round like a dog on a leash.”

Which was precisely the wrong thing to say.

Cas was on his feet in an instant, electric blue eyes flashing dangerously.

“I’m not in love,” he hissed. And then he was gone, locked away in his bedroom.

That’s usually how Cas’s temper tantrums went. You’d know he was upset when he completely shut himself off. The bedroom door was locked and every now and again you’d hear a loud crash as Cas threw something at the wall. Mr and Mrs Novak both tried to talk to him through the door, but there was never any response. Eventually Mrs Novak went to Dean.

“Dean, please go in there ‘n’ talk to him. He won’ let me or his daddy in the room, ‘n’ everyone else is afraid to go in there.” She paused, worrying her lower lip. “Please, honey. I’m scared he’s gonna hurt himself.”

They heard another crash.

To be honest with you, Dean was a little scared himself. He’d never seen Cas be anything but quiet and gentle. A wild child, sure, but the din was frightening. But he couldn’t say no to Mrs Novak--his momma had raised him better than that--so Dean took the long walk down the hall. Gabe, Muriel, Inias, and Anna were all hiding behind their bedroom doors with nothing but their heads poked out, staring bug-eyed at Dean as he passed.

Dean tapped gently on Cas’s door. Only silence answered him. Dean tapped again.

“Cas, c’mon, it’s me.”

Mrs Novak cleared her throat from the other end of the hallway and said in a sweet voice, “Children, why don’ we all go wait in the parlor ‘n’ give Dean some privacy.”

Everyone went downstairs in a hurry.

Dean watched them go before steeling himself up and knocking again. “Cas, I wanna talk to you.”

“Go ‘way,” came the muttered reply.

“Cas, just lemme in.”

“I said go away.”

“Please?”

“Go. Away. Dean.”

“Cas--”

“No!”

“Goddammit, Cas, open this goddamned door right this minute, or I’ll whup your ass into next week! D’ya hear me?”

There was a moment of silence. The door opened slowly, and Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Cas stood, looking completely cool and collected, holding the door and looking pointedly at the floor between them.

“Why are you actin’ like this?”

Cas let out an angry huff, briefly looking up to glare at Dean stonily.

“Gabe’s an ass, we all know that,” Dean pointed out. “Why’d you let anythin’ he says mean anythin’ to you?”

The glare dropped to the floor again, Cas’s arms folding across his chest. Dean sighed, rolling his eyes, and prodded Cas hard on the shoulder with one finger.

“Hey. I don’ even ‘member what he said. It shouldn’ matter.”

That was a lie. Dean did remember, and he remembered clearly. But that made things complicated. It was simpler to forget. Or at least pretend.

And besides that, it worked. Cas was looking at him like he wasn’t sure if he believed Dean, and Dean just smiled stoutly until Cas looked convinced. The incident was forgotten.


	3. Chapter Two

Dean had been in Whistle Stop for about two months when one Saturday morning he woke up to someone knocking on his bedroom window. Grumbling about the early hour, Dean rolled over and saw Cas sitting in the chinaberry tree and motioning for him to open the window. Rubbing at his eyes and yawning, Dean walked over.

“What’re you up so early for?”

“You promised we could go on a picnic today.”

“I know, but does it hafta be this early?”

Cas simply blinked at him, wide blue eyes pleading. Dean sighed heavily. Sam used to do that, just blink up at him like a wounded animal. He had always ended up getting his way.

“All right, just lemme get dressed.”

“Hurry up! I’ll meet you in the car.”

Dean frowned at Cas suspiciously. “We goin’ in the car?”

“Sure. Why not?” And Cas disappeared from view. What he’d failed to mention was that he’d stolen the keys to Gabe’s Model T, and it was actually extremely important to get going before Gabe woke up.

They drove way out to this place that Cas had found years ago, soon after his first introduction to the Winchesters. The place was beautiful, one of those little slices of heaven you can only find in the South, with a waterfall that flowed into this crystal clear stream that was filled with stones round and smooth as eggs. Dean was so blown away by the beauty that it took him a moment to realize how mysterious Cas was acting as he spread out the blanket and got the basket out of the car.

“What’re you up to?” Dean asked when he finally noticed. Cas looked up at him and smiled, a mischievous half smile.

“You like honey?”

Dean frowned, confused. “Yeah, I like honey.”

“Fresh honey?”

“Yeah....”

The half smile broke out into a grin. “Good.” He rummaged in the basket for a moment and pulled out an empty jar. “Now stay here,” he said, suddenly dead serious. “No matter what happens, don’ move.”

A shiver ran down Dean’s spine as he stared at Cas with alarm. “What’re you gonna do?”

The half smile returned along with a twinkle in Cas’s eye. He started walking over to a big oak tree about a hundred feet away. About halfway there he turned to see if Dean was still watching. And again when he was about ten feet away. Then he tiptoed right up to the tree and stuck his hand, jar and all, right in the hole in the middle of the oak.

All of a sudden, Dean heard a sound like a buzz saw, and the sky went black as hordes of angry bees swarmed out of the hole. Cas disappeared from sight in seconds, but Dean knew that the bees were attacking Cas, angry and stinging, filling Cas to the brim with venom. The buzzing was awful, with a strange beat like the chugging of a train, which only made the whole thing even more horrifying. Dean’s throat was tight, blocking the scream there from bursting out. This was it. Here and now was where it ended. He was watching Cas die, helpless to do anything, just like with Sam.

But then the black swarm seemed to shift and start to dissipate. Cas was walking back towards Dean, focused reverently on the jar in his hands. By the time he got back, almost all the bees had flown away and what had been a completely black figure was now Cas, standing there, grinning from ear to ear, with a jar of wild honey. He held it up, offering the jar to Dean.

“Here you are, sir. This is for you.”

Well. I’m sure you can imagine what Dean’s response was.

“I thought you were dead!” he burst hysterically. “Why’d you do that? You coulda been killed!”

The satisfied smirk on Cas’s face dropped. “I’m sorry! Here, don’ you want the honey? I got it just for you.”

Dean didn’t respond, grinding his teeth and blinking wildly. His heart was thudding rapidly in his chest, making it hard to breathe. Cas reached a hand out tentatively.

“‘S all right, I do it all the time. I never get stung, honest. Don’ be mad at me, Dean.”

Dean didn’t brush away Cas’s touch, but he didn’t look at him either. Slowly his heart started to beat normally again.

“Just... Dean, I never did that for anyone else before,” Cas said, shrugging. “Nobody in the whole world knows I can do that but you. I just wanted for us to have a secret together, that’s all.”

Dean huffed but didn’t respond.

“Please don’ be mad at me.”

Dean let out a heavy sigh and finally met Cas’s eyes. “Cas, I’m not mad at you. I just.... I dunno what I’d do if anythin’ ever happened to you. I already lost Sammy. I can’t lose you too.”

Cas was quiet for a long while after that.

After they had eaten their chicken and potato salad and all the biscuits and most of the honey, Dean leaned back, lighting a cigarette, and Cas laid down on the blanket.

“Y’know, Dean, I’d kill for you,” Cas said conversationally. “Anybody that’d ever hurt you, I’d kill ‘em in a minute ‘n’ never think twice ‘bout it.”

Dean stiffened instantly, casting a wary glance in Cas’s direction. “Cas, that’s awful.”

“No it isn’t,” Cas insisted, propping himself up on his elbow. “I’d rather kill for love than kill for hate. Wouldn’ you?”

“I’d rather not kill at all,” Dean said, shifting uncomfortably. “‘N’ I’d rather you not kill either.”

“All right then, I’d die for you. How ‘bout that? Don’ you think somebody could die for love?”

“Cas....”

“Bible says Jesus Christ did.”

Dean raised an eyebrow high. “So you do pay attention to Reverend Singer every now ‘n’ again.”

Cas smacked Dean’s knee playfully. “Everyone knows that story, dummy.”

Dean shook his head, pausing to take a long drag from the cigarette. “‘Sides. That was different.”

“No, it ain’. I’d die right now, ‘n’ I wouldn’ mind. I be the only corpse with a smile on my face.”

“Cas, can we stop talkin’ ‘bout this?” Dean said, perhaps a bit more harshly than he meant. Cas blinked owlishly at Dean, sobering quickly.

“I coulda been killed today, couldn’ I?”

Dean didn’t answer, and instead took another drag from his cigarette.

“‘M I crazy, Dean?” Cas asked quietly. Dean looked up with a jolt.

“What? No, Cas, no, just....” Dean gave him a big smile. “Y’know, I heard there were people who could charm bees. I just never seen it done ‘fore today.” Dean’s smile grew genuine as Cas’s eyes brightened with excitement.

“You’re a bee charmer, Cas Novak. That’s what you are, a bee charmer.”

Cas grinned back at Dean and looked up into the clear blue sky, and Cas, well, he was as happy as anyone who’s in love in the summertime can be.

* * *

That night before supper Missouri set all the kids to work getting the food ready as usual. Cas was told to watch the soup, Dean was told to shuck the corn, Muriel and Inias were told to set the table, so on. Dean went outside with the bag of corn and sat down to start husking when Cas’s older sister, the pretty one with the red hair, Anna, came out and sat next to him. She reached a hand in the sack, grabbed a cob, and started husking too.

“Hey.”

“Uh. Hi.” Dean was a little taken aback. Anna was a handful of years older than Dean and Cas, and Dean had never really spent much time with the older side of Cas’s siblings. Mostly he knew Muriel and Inias. And Gabe for tormenting reasons. But the other half--Zach, Balty, and Anna--Dean barely knew.

Anna smiled at him warmly but didn’t say anything else for the moment, so Dean went back to focusing on the corn, ears burning.

“This is a bit... outta the blue,” she started after a few quiet moments, “but I jus’ wanted to say I’m sorry ‘bout your brother.”

Dean’s hands froze mid-husk.

“I ‘member when it happened. Was awful. Cas was screamin’, your daddy was crazy, you were--”

“Can we not--?” Dean interrupted quickly, furiously going back to his work on the corn. Anna went silent abruptly.

“Sorry. Didn’ mean...”

They went back to silently shucking the corn, the ripping sound of the leaves much harsher than moments before. Eventually they were called back inside and everyone sat down for supper. All was well, but Cas noticed Dean was quieter than usual. Though he just attributed it to his near death experience earlier in the day.

* * *

Soon after the incident with the bees, Cas’s birthday rolled around. Dean set up a huge party at Miss Bradbury’s and surprised Cas that night. Despite all the time Cas spent there he’d never really made any friends with anyone but Miss Bradbury and Sheriff Lafitte so it took Cas a while to warm up to the attention. But it really only took a few drinks at Dean’s insistence before Cas started to thoroughly enjoy himself.

Sometime after midnight they ended up with their feet in the river and cards in their hands as Dean tried to teach a roaringly drunk Cas how to play poker.

“I,” Cas chuckled, “have never had so much fun... in my whole life.”

Dean rolled his eyes before showing Cas his hand. Cas grinned brightly.

“A straight beats three of a kind,” he crowed triumphantly. Dean huffed, tossing his cards in Cas’s face, which only made Cas laugh.

“Y’know, poker ain’ half bad,” he chuckled, taking a swig from the bottle of moonshine sitting between them. Dean shook his head, grabbing the bottle and holding it out of Cas’s reach.

“What’s your momma gonna say when she sees you drunk off your ass?”

“Hey, that’s all your fault,” Cas pointed out. “‘Sides, you gotta stop worryin’ ‘bout what people think.”

Dean sighed. “I know.”

“You always done the right thing. Little momma’s boy, takin’ care of your family when your daddy was in the war. ‘N’ everybody loves you for it. Good little soldier, always doin’ what you’re supposed to.”

Dean let out a small huff of laughter. “Yeah, ‘n’ I’m gonna marry the girl I’m supposed to.”

The slack contentment on Cas’s face disappeared. He felt sick. “You gettin’ married?” he asked, trying to make it sound like he thought it was funny. Dean all straight-laced, getting married all nice and proper. It was ridiculous, really.

“Soon’s the summer’s over. Dad had it all arranged ‘fore I came out here.” Dean met Cas’s gaze briefly, knowing what he was going to see. “I’ll miss you, Cas,” he said quietly.

The only sounds between them was the river and the cicadas for a while. Cas swallowed a few times before his stomach was convinced not to be sick. He steeled himself up, determined. Then he forced on a childish grin and vaulted over Dean to snatch the bottle of moonshine. Dean let out a cry of surprise as Cas danced into the river, chugging down the last of the alcohol, looking back at Dean with a challenge in his eyes. Dean splashed towards Cas, grabbing for the bottle desperately.

“Cas, c’mon! Your momma’s gonna kill me!”

The bottle left Cas’s lips with a slight pop, and he smirked at Dean whose eyes were wide as dinner plates. “Too late,” he said jovially, holding the empty bottle out for Dean to take. Dean plucked it from Cas’s grip easily, glaring at him, before tossing it back to where they’d been sitting.

“C’mon, we should go home,” he said, starting back in that direction. Cas grabbed him by the elbow, pulling him back easily.

“I don’ really feel like goin’ home just yet,” he slurred, blinking large glassy eyes at Dean. Dean hesitated for a moment. He couldn’t quite decide if Cas was like this because he was drunk or because he was trying to ignore the news Dean had just given him. But then Cas wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, smiling sloppily, and Dean decided he didn’t really care.


	4. Chapter Three

John Winchester died the week before Dean went back to Lawrence, Georgia. The mood in the Novak household changed drastically as Cas moped, and Dean fretted. No matter his feelings for Cas, Dean couldn’t stand the thought of his mother back home, alone and grieving. It was a relief to go home. When he arrived at the train station Aby Sands, his bride-to-be, and his mother were there to meet him. After a hug and a kiss for Mrs Winchester and thoroughly making sure that she was all right, Dean turned his attention to Aby. He had forgotten how beautiful she was; tall, striking red hair, pale skin, and hazel eyes. And besides. His father had arranged this, and the man was dead now. He had to honor the departed.

Almost immediately after the funeral, parties and preparations started, and Dean tried to shut out any thoughts of Whistle Stop. But sometimes in the middle of a crowd or alone at night Cas would suddenly come to mind, and Dean would want to see him so bad it hurt. A tight pinching that took his breath away.

Dean went to his wedding bed determined to be a good, supportive, and loving husband, no matter what. It was the proper thing to do, and what he really wanted was so inappropriate Dean knew he had to make up for it somehow. Which was why when he found out that he had absolutely no power he couldn’t do anything about it. He was no stranger to violence, but Aby had seemed so quiet and demure and beautiful and just about as good as Dean could really ask for.... After she was finished (which Dean was sure was not the way it was supposed to work), he lay there trying to breathe, and she got up and went into the other room to sleep. She never came back to his bed unless she wanted sex; and then, nine times out of ten, it was because she was too busy to go into town.

Dean knew, of course, that something inside of him was broken and irreparable. He’d been taught that long ago. Compared to the people he loved, like Sammy and Cas, Dean was nothing. But with Aby, Dean couldn’t get over the constant fear that somehow she knew. Somehow she knew that Dean was in love with Cas. He’d let it slip somehow, in his voice, his touch; he didn’t know how, but he knew that it had to have happened. Because that’s how it always happened. Every now and again he would get caught up in a fantasy where he’d never met Aby, he’d never had to leave Whistle Stop; where it didn’t matter and he and Cas could just live out their lives in peace.

But then his mother’s coughing would interrupt the daydream. She was getting steadily sicker, and Dean could never leave her or burden her with anymore than she already carried. It was fairly soon after the wedding that the doctor confined Mrs Winchester to her bed. And Dean threw himself into taking care of her. I don’t think he quite realized it, but it was how he coped. It always had been, starting when John had gone overseas for the war. It was second nature.

When Aby got pregnant she was furious. That night Dean accepted that he wasn’t going to see the sun rise. Aby had always been so careful, and it was completely Dean’s fault. They both knew it, and Dean knew he deserved Aby’s choice of punishment. He was surprised when he opened his eyes again to a dark and empty bedroom. He didn’t fall back asleep. And he ignored the finger-shaped bruises on his neck until they faded away.

The months following remained a blur in Dean’s memory for the rest of his life. He kept his head down and took care of his mother, terrified of the day she would finally leave him. He didn’t know what he would do when that happened. When the baby was born, Aby dumped the screaming little boy in Dean’s arms and left. She didn’t return for three days, leaving Dean to care for the newborn by himself. Luckily Dean had an idea of what to do since he’d taken care of his brother when he was little, but he found out fairly quickly the differences between a baby and a three-year-old. When Aby finally returned, Dean asked her about the baby’s name. She replied dismissively that she didn’t care.

That was her general attitude towards the addition to the Winchester family. She would show annoyance escalating quickly into threats when the baby disturbed her, but Dean usually managed to calm him down before she could follow through. Honestly, Dean couldn’t believe his luck. Aby left him alone more often as he was so occupied, and Dean could focus all his energy into what he did best: loving those who were important.

It took him a few days, but eventually Dean decided on a name for his son. Little Sammy Winchester, Jr.

And then one day in August, Cas Novak showed up at Dean’s front door.

* * *

Years before, just weeks after Dean had left Whistle Stop but before the wedding, Cas had wandered into the town of Lawrence, Georgia. He stopped in a grocery store and looked around, very determinedly not overwhelmed by the size. Whistle Stop was tiny compared to Lawrence, that much was obvious. He wandered around, looking at all the stuff. Soon, a balding man in a white apron came up to him and asked, “Can I help you, sir? What you gonna need today?”

Cas told him he’d have some saltine crackers and a couple slices of that cheese he had out on the counter. While he was slicing the cheese Cas asked, “You don’ happen to know if Aby Sands is in town today, do you?”

“Who?”

“Aby Sands.”

“Oh, Aby! Nah, she usually’s here on Wednesdays though. Why? You need to see her?”

“Nah, I don’ even know her. I just wonderin’ what she looked like.”

The grocer smiled, a small smile, the kind men get when remembering a particularly pretty lady. Almost lewd. “Ah, Aby Sands. She’s tall. All the right curves. Light eyes, can never quite figure the color. ‘N’ red hair. Thick, curly, bright red hair. Can see her comin’ from a mile ‘way.”

Cas bristled, taking his crackers and cheese and nibbling at the corner of one of the crackers. “How old is she?”

“Oh, I don’ know, sir. Somewhere in her twenties, I’d guess, but I never ask a lady’s age.”

“She nice? I mean, she well liked?”

The man shrugged. “Sure. Why d’ya ask?”

“Just wonderin’,” Cas mumbled, focused on a piece of cheese. “My, uh, cousin is engaged to her, ‘n’ I just wonderin’.”

“You’re Dean’s cousin? Oh, now there’s a fine person. Shame ‘bout his daddy, but Dean’s well thought of all through town. Known ‘im myself since he was a boy, him ‘n’ his little brother. Poor kid got hit by a train back in Alabama long time ‘go. Now John’s gone too. ‘Bout time those Winchesters had some good fortune ‘n’ a weddin’s just the way to do it, don’ you think?”

“Mmm,” Cas hummed noncommittally. Something large had lodged itself in his throat.

“So you visitin’ Dean then?”

Cas cleared his throat, shaking his head. “Ah, no, just passin’ through town. I just wanted to make sure this Aby was okay, ‘n’ I don’ want ‘im to know that the family was worried ‘bout ‘im. Might upset ‘im. I’ll just tell my parents everythin’s fine, ‘n’ most likely we’ll all be back for the weddin’, ‘n’ it would just upset ‘im to know ‘n’ think we were askin’ ‘round, so I’ll just head on home now, thanks!”

Cas cleared out, stumbling over his feet as the grocer called, “Sure thing!”

* * *

Dean invited Cas to the wedding, but Cas never did write back. No, but he did drive all the way back to Georgia to watch from afar. And after that, watching Dean carry his bride over the threshold of their new home, he swore he’d never see Dean again. After Dean left, Cas went back to his old ways, hanging out at Miss Bradbury’s and never going home. His momma worried, but there was nothing she could do. Miss Bradbury just kept an eye on him and let Mrs Novak know anything she really needed to know. But after a few years, temptation got the better of Cas.

“Mista Cas, suh. Mista Cas. Wake up, suh.”

Cas grumbled unhappily, batting at the large hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry, suh, didn’ want ta wake ya, but ‘s a full day’s drive ta Lawrence, ‘n’ your momma says if you’re goin’ all the way over there then she wants ya ta take this pie ta Mista Dean.”

Cas blinked slowly as Big Victor came into focus, holding a basket in one hand. He frowned at the larger man as he sat up on the makeshift bed in the coloreds’ house.

“How’d she know where I’m goin’?”

“She knows ‘cause I told her,” Missouri answered, coming down the stairs. Cas opened his mouth to argue, but Missouri pointed at him sternly. “Now don’ ya go stirrin’ up trouble for Mista Dean, ya hear me?”

Cas only glared at her as he took the basket from Big Victor and left. Big Victor was right, it was a long drive. And Cas still had to snatch Gabe’s keys before he woke up.

By the time Cas got to Dean’s house he was so nervous he felt sick. Before he could get cold feet, Cas rapped on the front door and stepped back to wait. A small, severe looking servant woman arrived on the other side of the screen door.

“Hi there,” Cas said, wriggling his fingers at her.

“Yes?”

“Uh, is Dean at home?” he asked, heart suddenly in his throat and beating wildly. This was stupid, he realized suddenly. An idiotic idea. Dean probably didn’t even remember him.

“Who’s callin’?”

“You, uh, just tell ‘im it’s the bee charmer from Alabama.” There. That way if Dean didn’t remember him, Cas could just duck away and never look back. The servant woman was giving him a funny sort of look like she couldn’t quite decide if he was crazy or not.

“Sir, there’s some bee person here to see you,” she called, turning back inside and disappearing from view. Before Cas could even begin to turn and flee, he saw someone coming down the stairs.

“Cas?”

Cas found his mouth to be quite abruptly dry. Dean was coming closer, a perplexed look on his face. A weak laugh pushed past Cas’s lips.

“Hey,” he replied, but then the smile dropped away as Dean came to a stop where the servant woman had just been standing.

“You got a kid,” Cas said dumbly, staring at the sleeping bundle in Dean’s arms. Dean readjusted the baby, looking uncomfortable.

“Uhm, yeah. Name’s Sammy.”

Cas looked up at Dean with a jolt. Dean’s lips twitched up into a small smile in response. Cas looked back at the baby, the ugly feeling in his gut seeping away.

“He’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Dean replied with an oddly soft smile. Cas shifted awkwardly.

“Oh, uh, Momma said to give you this pie.... It’s back in the car, though, I can go grab it.” He smiled widely at Dean. “Apple still your favorite?”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah.” That brought back the familiar twinkle in those green eyes that Cas was used to but only for a moment. Dean was looking at Cas with this expression he couldn’t figure out. Like he was sad or something. Which didn’t make any sense to Cas. Course, it made perfect sense, you and I know that, but Cas had no idea yet. Here Dean was living in a big old house, beautiful and nice, with a wife and kid, living life just like he should. No reason to be anything less than comfortable and content.

After a moment Dean sighed. “Cas Novak. How are you? You look so... grown up. All the girls must be wild ‘bout you. You got a lady yet?”

Cas shrugged. “A couple,” he lied, not really knowing why. “Haven’ decided on any. That Meg girl’s the most persistent, but--”

“Meg Masters?” Dean interrupted, sounding amused. Cas sent him a half-hearted glare.

“Yeah. She kinda scares me, though.”

“Can’t blame you for that,” Dean agreed.

It was at that point that an unfamiliar female voice rang out from inside the house, “Dean, honey, who’s down there?” and Dean turned to reply. When he did, the right side of his face, which had been in shadow, suddenly came in full view. Three ugly red lines were drawn down his cheek, deep scratches that were just starting to scab. Dean realized his mistake almost immediately and turned back to Cas with panic written all over his face.

“Hey--” Cas said sharply. “What happened to you?”

“Nothin’,” Dean said dismissively, looking down and brushing at the baby’s cheek.

“Nothin’! Where’d you get those cuts?”

“‘S just a scratch,” Dean mumbled, eyes fixed on the baby.

The same voice called out, “Who’s down there?”

“You’d better leave now,” Dean said, finally looking up at Cas earnestly.

“Did she hurt you?” Cas asked incredulously, going on tiptoe to look over Dean’s shoulder.

“Cas--”

“Did she? Somebody’s gotta talk to her--”

“Cas,” Dean said firmly with a quick glance up the stairs. “You’re not gonna do anythin’.”

“She did hurt you!” Cas cried, eyes wide and bright with rage. “I’m gonna kill her. I’m gonna have a conversation with her ‘bout--”

“You’re not gonna do anythin’!”

“--Pickin’ on somebody with too big a heart--”

“You’re not gonna do anythin’, understand me?” Dean said, raising his voice just a smidge. A small upset noise came from the bundle in his arms, and Dean shifted his grip slightly, bouncing the baby gently, eyes still on Cas. “If you care ‘bout me, if you really do, you’ll turn ‘round ‘n’ leave this minute. You understand?”

Cas blinked stupidly at Dean for a moment until little Sammy started sniffling, the telltale beginnings of a full blown tantrum. Then Cas turned heel and stormed back to the Model T, peeling away before the baby had even shed a tear. Dean managed to shush the baby just as Aby came up behind him, frowning out the door curiously.

“Who was that?”

“No one,” Dean muttered, brushing the tears off Sammy’s cheeks. “No one important.”

* * *

The minute Cas got home he went straight to Miss Bradbury’s place and told Charlie what had happened, still in a rage, vowing he was going back over there and getting Aby. Charlie listened carefully, quiet through Cas’s entire tirade before putting in her two cents.

“You’re gonna go over there ‘n’ get either yerself or Dean killed, is what you’re gonna do. Women like that ain’ stupid. She’ll getcha arrested ‘fore you can even blink. Jus’ don’ go interferin’ with people’s marriages, Cas, it don’ work that way. Honey, there are things ‘tween a man ‘n’ a woman that you don’ go foolin’ with.”

Poor Cas was in agony. “Why does he stay with her? What’s the matter with him?”

“Ain’ any a your business. He’s a grown man, sweetheart, ‘n’ he can take care a himself. You’re still jus’ a baby, sugar, ‘n’ if that woman is as bad as you say she is, you’re jus’ gonna get yerself hurt.”

“I don’ care,” Cas griped. “I’m gonna kill that bitch someday, wait ‘n’ see.”

Charlie poured Cas another drink. “No, you’re not. You’re not gonna kill anyone ‘n’ you’re not gonna go back to Georgia. Promise?”

Cas promised. But Miss Bradbury was too smart to really believe him.

* * *

Now a little while later a letter came from Dean. Cas was in the kitchen driving Missouri crazy when Mrs Novak flitted in, letter in hand, opening it as she spoke.

“From Dean, baby. Oh no, it’s an obituary. Mary Winchester died, god rest her.”

Cas jumped off the counter where he was perched and snatched letter from his momma’s hands, scanning through it quickly before pushing it back at her and turning to Missouri.

“Get Big Victor. Now.”

Missouri nodded, bustling out the door. Cas went in the opposite direction, straight for the stairs, yelling as he ran.

“Gabe! Gabe, you lazy ass, I need your help!”

Gabe stuck his head out his bedroom, looking irritated. “What for?”

“We’re bringin’ Dean back to Whistle Stop.”

* * *

Back in Lawrence just a few days before, the doctor had come out of Mrs Winchester’s room where Dean was waiting nervously. “She’s started to talk a little,” he told Dean. “You might wanna go in for a while.”

Dean went in and sat down. His momma, who hadn’t spoken in ages, opened her eyes and saw her son. “Dean, honey...” she whispered hoarsely. “Get away from her. You got no reason to stay now. She’s evil, ‘n’ you don’ deserve that. Take the baby ‘n’ go. Go back to Alabama or somethin’, somewhere you’ll be happy. Promise me....”

Dean hadn’t realized she knew what was going on. She’d been so sick for so long.... But Mary Winchester was no fool. Dean nodded and held her hand. That afternoon the doctor closed his momma’s eyes for good.

Dean didn’t cry. Instead he made sure little Sammy didn’t bother Aby one bit the rest of that day. Then he addressed an envelope to Cas and tried not to hope.


	5. Chapter Four

“Gabe, got ‘nother box here when you’re done!” Cas turned to where Dean had been standing by the wall, baby in his arms, almost the entire time Cas had been there. “I never realized babies needed so much stuff.”

“Ain’ his fault,” Dean murmured quietly. Cas sighed.

“I know that,” he said, gently taking the baby from Dean and setting him in the little carriage beside them. He was about to ask again if Dean was all right when someone came up the porch. Cas only knew it wasn’t Big Victor or Gabe because Dean’s eyes widened in panic.

“What the hell is goin’ on here?”

It was the first time Cas had actually come face to face with Aby Sands, and he had to admit there was something formidable about her. But he wasn’t about to let her scare him.

“Looks like your husband’s leavin’ you, miss.”

Aby’s eyes flicked between Cas and Dean rapidly, lips curling. “Sure he is.”

She moved quick as a flash, darting by Cas and plucking baby Sammy from where he was sleeping in the carriage. She was already making her way up the stairs with a suddenly screaming Sammy before either Cas or Dean knew what was happening.

“Don’ you touch ‘im!” Cas yelled, jumping for Aby, but Aby lashed out with her free arm, shoving Cas back with more strength than he could’ve anticipated. Cas stumbled back, hitting the wall hard, and Dean rushed forward. Aby ignored them both, continuing up the stairs, seemingly unphased by the red-faced child in her grip. Running on pure instinct, Dean grabbed Aby by the elbow, hissing “Don’ you hurt them--” when she turned fast as a snake, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Imagine how your son will fare without you,” she snarled. Dean froze, but he didn’t back down. Cas hovered where he still stood, back against the wall, trying to decide if he dared to interfere with the baby in such immediate danger.

“The kid is stayin’ here,” Aby continued, voice low enough she could barely be heard over the screams. “What ‘bout you?”

“I wouldn’ do that if I was you, miss.”

Cas flinched, turning to see both Gabe and Big Victor in the doorway. He’d never seen Gabe look so serious or Big Victor look so dangerous.

“See, thing is, you migh’ upset Big Victor,” Gabe continued calmly, “‘n’ he’s crazy.” Behind Gabe, Big Victor pulled his knife out from a pocket, picking slowly at the dirt under his nails with the tip, never taking his eyes off Aby.

“There’s no tellin’ what he migh’ do.”

Aby’s eyes were flicking quickly between Big Victor, Gabe, and Dean, so fast Cas could almost see her trying to figure what to do. After what seemed like a lifetime she let out an angry huff, jerking her head in the direction of the door.

“Go on. Get outta here,” she growled. Dean straightened, hoping the trembling he felt wasn’t visible, and looked her in the eye.

“Not without my son.”

Dean had seen that look on Aby’s face once before, and it hadn’t been Aby he’d seen it on. As soon as his father had figured out what had happened that first summer in Whistle Stop his face had twisted into this monstrous picture Dean hadn’t understood through his tears. Nothing had happened at first, just a low growl and a hand on his arm, dragging him away. Dean was never sure if it was the shock or the audience that had done it. And he wasn’t sure now, either. But this time there was the hope of getting away. Getting far away. If only she’d give him the baby.

With something on the edge of a snarl Aby thrust the baby towards Dean holding him only by the neck of his shirt. Dean gathered the baby in his arms quickly before the screams of confusion could turn into ones of pain, whispering to his son softly, mind already on tomorrow when they’d be far away and safe. So when two hands shoved at his shoulders and Dean suddenly found his world toppling, he had no idea what had happened until he crashed to the floor at the bottom of the stairs somehow--miraculously--managing not to crush the baby beneath him.

There was a roar from Gabe as he jumped towards Aby, set on teaching her a lesson. Cas was on his knees, frantically making sure both Dean and the baby weren’t hurt. Big Victor was right behind Gabe, yanking him back and throwing him in the direction of the still open door before helping Dean up to his feet. Cas still wasn’t sure if Dean and the baby were all right, his throat tight and his vision blurred with rage, but Big Victor was ushering everyone out the door. Hurt or not they needed to get out of this house and now.

Seething, Cas whipped back around to where Aby was still standing halfway up the stairs, looking disdainful.

“If you ever touch him again, I’ll kill you,” he promised, voice shaking with rage. “You hear me? I’ll kill you!”

Big Victor had turned back and yanked Cas backwards through the door. Cas complied easily enough, hopping into the back of the car with Dean. The baby was still crying, and Dean was still trying to quiet him, but he looked up at Cas with a weak smile for a brief moment. Cas grinned back at him as Gabe started up the car and peeled away, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it, cool as a cucumber.

“Well, I sure as hell scared her, didn’ I?”

* * *

Late that night after everything had been taken inside, after the Novak household welcomed Dean back with hugs and smiles, after the baby’s crib had been set up and little Sammy put to bed, Dean and Cas stood in Cas’s bedroom in silence. Dean hadn’t been making direct eye contact with anyone all afternoon, and Cas was starting to feel like maybe this wasn’t going to work out. After a moment, Cas shifted awkwardly.

“We can get you a bed tomorrow, but with little Sammy sleepin’ in your old room....”

“‘S fine.”

It was quiet again. Cas watched Dean’s eyes flit around the room.

“You okay?”

Dean actually looked up, a wry smile on his lips. “I’ll be fine.”

Cas met the smile, grateful he’d gotten some sort of positive response finally. He reached out and cupped Dean’s cheek with one hand gently, stepping closer than he ever dared save for that one night in the river. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned into the touch earnestly. Cas swallowed heavily before surging forward and placing a gentle kiss on Dean’s lips, heart hammering in his chest.

He gasped softly when all of a sudden Dean was kissing him back, ferocious yet tender, like he couldn’t stop himself but was scared. Which, frankly, was ridiculous since hadn’t Cas kissed him first? Cas wrapped his arms around Dean, pulling him in closer and deepening the kiss. A quiet part of him in the back of his head was fretting and panicking, telling him he’d never done this before, how in the hell did he know what to do? Would Dean realize that Cas had no experience whatsoever and be disgusted? Push him away with a look of revulsion and leave? And then he’d pack up and go, and that would be it. Cas would never see him again.

But Dean wasn’t pushing him away. If anything, Dean was pulling him in closer as well, and then they were stumbling towards Cas’s bed, and there was a flurry of hands fighting with buttons. Cas realized that Dean’s cheeks were damp.

Out of respect, I’ll skip the next fifteen or so minutes of the story. It ain’t necessary for you to know what exactly happened, and moments like those are for the people involved only. To be honest with you, I don’t even know exactly what went down. I don’t need to. And, actually, what you’re thinking is wrong. Because we pick back up with the two of them laying side by side on Castiel’s bed, Dean’s back to Cas, shoulders shaking as he tried to remember how to breathe. As he tried to convince himself that he would never see Aby again. That Sammy was safe. That he was safe.

“‘M sorry,” he whispered, a slight tremor in his voice.

“‘S not your fault,” Cas replied, tone low and steady. “I don’ wanna push you inta anythin’ you don’ want.”

“It’s not....” Dean sighed heavily, rolling over to look at Cas. “I wanna, Cas. I do, I just...”

“Need time,” Cas finished for him. “‘S okay.” He kissed Dean softly on the forehead, running a soothing hand over Dean’s arm. Dean’s eyes closed, a look of torment on his face, and Cas continued to kiss his cheeks, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, trying to erase the pain. But after a moment the feel of Dean’s skin under his hand distracted him, and he looked down to Dean’s bare chest, confused by what he was feeling.

Scars. Countless scars littered Dean’s chest, ranging in size and shape and depth. Cas felt his supper settle in the back of his throat as he stared, eyes wide.

“Are all of these from her?” he asked softly, trying not to let his horror show in his voice.

Dean’s eyes opened, and he looked down to where Cas’s hand rested. He swallowed heavily, the sound loud and punctured.

“No.”


	6. Chapter Five

That summer, with some financial help from Castiel’s daddy, the Whistle Stop Cafe, owned and run by Misters Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester, opened up right next to the post office. Cas let everyone know that he was not cooking so there was no need to worry about getting poisoned. All the cooking was being done by Missouri, and the barbecue was being cooked by Big Victor.

The breakfast hours were from 5:30-7:30, and you could get eggs, grits, biscuits, bacon, sausage, ham and red-eye gravy, and coffee for 25 cents.

For lunch and supper you could have: fried chicken; pork chops and gravy; catfish; chicken and dumplings; or a barbecue plate; and your choice of three vegetables, biscuits, or cornbread, and your drink and dessert--for 35 cents.

The vegetables were: creamed corn; fried green tomatoes; fried okra; collard or turnip greens; black-eyed peas; candied yams; butter beans or lima beans.

And pie for dessert.

Whistle Stop had welcomed Dean’s return enthusiastically. Cas had everyone convinced (everyone outside of the Novak household at least) that Dean’s wife had tragically died being run over by a Brinks Armoured truck. Dean was a bit horrified by that thought at first, but there was no reeling Cas in. And besides. It was easier that way.

The cafe was an immediate success. Everyone already loved Missouri’s cooking, and Big Victor’s barbecue was a big hit as well. Dean even cooked sometimes (mostly the pies) when he didn’t have to be taking care of Sammy. He liked the kitchen and enjoyed Missouri’s company, even if she did intimidate him sometimes. Cas spent most of his time at the cafe out in the dining area, making sure everyone was comfortable and full.

In the meantime, behind the scenes, Cas and Dean had moved out of the Novaks’ house and into a little cottage that was nice and cozy right next door to the cafe. There wasn’t much to it, but it had two bedrooms, a warm fireplace, and nice open windows. People noticed, sure, that these two men had moved into their own place together, but no one talked about it. Everyone liked Cas and Dean, anyway. What they did behind closed doors didn’t matter to the good people of Whistle Stop. As long as Cas and Dean were happy and the cafe kept feeding them good Southern cooking, the people of Whistle Stop were happy.

A few of the Novak family helped Cas and Dean get settled in their new place; moving in furniture, taking turns with the baby, cooking food, laughing and having a good time. Dean had just passed little Sammy off to Anna when Cas’s older brother, Balty, pushed Dean out to the back, hands on his hips and steel in his eyes. Immediately Dean realized they were alone, everyone else out front or in the house, and readied himself for a fight. He’d been waiting for one of Cas’s siblings to try something.

But Balty didn’t strike. In fact as soon as they were out the door he didn’t touch Dean. Instead he just glared at him, a hard set to his jaw. Twitchy from the sudden rush of adrenaline, Dean stared back, bewildered.

“D’ya love him?” Balty finally asked. Dean blinked. Was that a trick question?

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you love him?” Balty repeated impatiently.

“I... he-- he’s my best friend,” Dean stammered wildly. Balty rolled his eyes and took two steps forward, right into Dean’s space, and glared into Dean’s eyes. Dean tried not to fidget. After a few moments it seemed Balty found what he was looking for, and he stepped back, satisfied. He turned around to go back indoors, calling jauntily, “If you hurt ‘im, I’ll kill you myself.”

* * *

One day, near the end of the lunch hour, a stranger walked through the cafe doors. This stranger was small and scruffy, face obscured by dirt and hair and glazed eyes. He introduced himself as Chuck when Cas made his way over and herded him to a seat, quickly getting him some food. Dean was out in the dining area setting up a display of various pies, eyeing the stranger warily as Cas came back to Dean’s side.

“More charity, Cas?” Dean asked quietly. Cas frowned at him disapprovingly.

“He just came off the train, Dean, look at ‘im. Probably hasn’ had a real meal in a year.”

“Or more,” Dean added under his breath. “Just keep an eye on the cash box.”

Cas rolled his eyes before slicing into the apple pie Dean had just laid out and placing a piece on a plate.

“Hey, those are for supper!” Dean protested, but Cas was already making his way back to Chuck, snatching a fork on his way.

Chuck’s glassy eyes widened at the slice of pie, wolfing it down eagerly the moment Cas set down the plate. Cas chuckled, sitting on the stool next to the ragged man. Chuck wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand when the pie was gone and looked up to Cas, eyes a little less glassy.

“Ya wouldn’ happen ta know where ya could buy a pint in this town?”

“Liquor? Can’t sell that stuff here, y’know. But if you go straight up the street to that green house that says Singer he’ll sell you some,” Cas replied, a twinkle in his eye. He leaned closer conspiratorially. “‘N’ don’ let ‘im tell you he’s really a preacher. That’s just his cover.”

Dean had walked closer and was smirking. “Yeah, he’s got the best stuff in the state a Alabama.”

“Thank ya kindly, sirs!” Chuck hurried out of that cafe as quick as his unsteady legs could take him. Dean and Cas watched him run down the street to the reverend’s house and knock on the door. Only a moment passed before Singer’s face appeared, and almost immediately it turned red as the reverend looked over the poor newcomer’s shoulder towards the cafe. They couldn’t hear what he was bellowing, but they didn’t have to. Dean barked with laughter.

“Works every time!”

Cas was grinning from ear to ear, shaking his head. “I’ll go rescue ‘im. Get ‘im a good solid meal ‘n’ send ‘im Charlie’s way.”

Chuck looked thoroughly disappointed as he turned away from Singer’s house, and Cas gave him a large smile. “Sorry ‘bout that. We just like to give Reverend Singer a hard time. Didn’ mean anythin’ by it. ‘Bout I get you a nice warm meal on the house, ‘n’ then I’ll show you where the club by the river is. Miss Bradbury runs the place ‘n’ she loves new customers.”

“I ‘preciate that, sir,” Chuck said warmly.

“Y’know, that lake used to be filled to the brim with all sorts a life. Empty as a church on Monday now,” Cas said conversationally, pointing out the lake as they walked back to the cafe.

“Yeah?”

“Lots a fish ‘n’ oysters ‘n’ stuff. That lake ‘n’ the river down a ways got a lot a good stories.”

Chuck waited politely, the haze in his eyes steadily fading. Cas grinned.

“Bunch a oysters lyin’ on the bottom a that lake ‘n’ then one day God comes ‘long ‘n’ puts a piece a sand in one a ‘em. Says he’s gonna make that one different. Y’know what an oyster can do with a piece a sand?”

Chuck shook his head.

“Can make a beautiful pearl. That oyster made a pearl, smooth ‘n’ white, ‘n’ that pearl’s on my momma’s necklace now.”

“Ignore him,” Dean said, leading Chuck back to his seat as he and Cas walked through the cafe door. “He’s just makin’ things up.”

“Am not!” Cas argued indignantly. Dean gave Cas an amused look.

“How could a fish turn into a person, Cas?”

“I dunno!” Cas cried, shrugging. “But ‘s true. ‘Sides that ain’ the story I was tellin’.”

“Oh, well, he’ll have to tell you that one sometime,” Dean told Chuck seriously. “It’s his favorite.”

* * *

Missouri Moseley was a round woman and funny. She had all those old-timey colored superstitions. Her mother’d been a slave, and Missouri was scared to death of spells. Told Mrs Novak that a friend of hers down by the tracks had put yellow conjure powder in this man’s shoes every night and had caused him to lose his functions. She also had this weird ability where she could tell you the very day you’d next get sick, if your baby was going to be a boy or a girl, and where and when you’d lost your reading glasses.

But the thing Missouri was the most deathly afraid of in the world was the heads of animals. If you brought her a chicken or a fish or if Big Victor killed a hog, she wouldn’t touch it or cook it until she’d buried the head out in the garden. She said that if you didn’t bury the head the spirit of that animal would enter your body and cause you to go completely insane. One time Benny brought in a turkey to the cafe that he’d killed on a weekend hunting and forgot. Missouri ran home, screaming like a banshee, and wouldn’t come back until the place had been conjured by a friend. She must have buried hundreds of heads out in the garden. But let me tell you, that garden got the biggest tomatoes and okra and squash I ever seen.

But with all her spooky ways there wasn’t a better cook in the state of Alabama. Even at eleven they say she could make the most delicious biscuits and gravy, cobbler, fried chicken, turnip green, and black-eyed peas. And her dumplings were so light they would float in the air, and you’d have to catch them to eat them. All the recipes that were used at the cafe were hers. She taught Cas and Dean everything they knew about cooking.

And despite Cas’s promise to the people of Whistle Stop that none of the food in the cafe was being made by him, he still became very determined to help somehow. Some days when Mrs Novak was taking care of little Sammy and Dean was in the kitchen, Cas would join him and try his hand at cooking something. For a good long while he was quite determined to learn how to make fried green tomatoes, constantly asking Dean for help.

“Here, try this,” he said, coming up behind Dean who was working diligently on a chocolate frosting. Dean turned his head slightly to take a bite, not taking his eyes off his work. Cas watched him quietly, waiting for some sort of reaction to the fried green tomato he’d just finished.

“So what d’ya think?” he asked when he got too impatient.

“They’re okay,” Dean answered a little stiffly. Cas deflated.

“The truth.”

“Well....” Dean looked over at him, fighting not to laugh at the horridly disappointed look on Cas’s face. “They’re terrible!”

“Oh, well, don’ be shy,” Cas drawled, slinking away. “Tell me how you feel.”

“I will,” Dean chuckled, turning his attention back to the frosting. Cas eyed him for a moment before turning to fill a glass of water at the sink. With his back to Cas, Dean stayed happily oblivious to the sly smirk on Cas’s face until the contents of Cas’s water glass were splashed all over his face. Dean jumped, just barely holding back a squeak of surprise, blinking and spluttering wildly.

“What’d you go ‘n’ do that for?” Dean asked with wide eyes, turning around to stare at Cas’s smug expression.

“Just thought you needed a little coolin’ off.”

Dean gaped at Cas as he chuckled and turned back to the sink. Dean wiped at the water dripping down the tip of his nose, turning back to the frosting frustrated. But then his eyes landed on his own water glass, still about half full, and he grinned. In the next few seconds the back of Cas’s head was soaked, and Dean was laughing triumphantly. Cas turned slowly, looking at Dean like he couldn’t quite believe it, and Dean just laughed. So Cas grabbed a handful of blackberries sitting by the sink and smushed them flat on the top of Dean’s head.

“Try these!” Cas suggested, laughing uproariously at Dean’s expression. Dean recovered quickly, ducking under Cas’s arm and jumping for the sack of flour on the floor, pulling out a large handful.

“I think we needa make a little paste!” he cried, dumping it on top of Cas. Cas shrieked, both of them somehow losing their balance and ending up in a mess of limbs on the floor as Cas grabbed blindly for something and ended up with a couple tomatoes. The tomatoes were a pulp in Dean’s hair before he knew it, Cas’s giggles ringing in the air.

“What in the name a Christmas are you two doin’?!”

Through their combined laughter they still managed to hear Benny’s cry of disbelief from the kitchen doorway. Both Dean and Cas looked up to where the bear of a man was standing with his hands on his hips, looking at them with quite the expression of disapproval. Cas shoved at Dean’s shoulder, still laughing.

“He’s tryin’ to teach me how to cook!”

“Look at those fried green tomatoes!” Dean howled, gesturing in the general direction of where he thought the burnt to a crisp tomatoes might have ended up.

“Bank’s closed, boys,” Benny rumbled, the corners of his mouth fighting not to twitch into a smile. “I’m gonna have to arrest you for disorderly conduct.”

“Arrest us then,” Cas taunted, spreading his arms wide in a mock surrender.

“Lemme handle this,” Dean said after clearing his throat importantly, patting Cas’s arm gently. With a little difficulty, Dean disentangled himself from Cas and stood up, stepping back to his chocolate frosting. Tomato and blackberry juice was dripping steadily from his hair into his right ear. Gathering a good amount of frosting on the spatula he stepped right up in Benny’s space and spread the frosting down the sheriff’s face, inspiring a whoop of laughter from where Cas still sat on the floor. Benny flinched only slightly before closing his eyes in resignation.

“Dean, I hafta say. I do believe Cas has been a bad influence on you.”

Dean chuckled gleefully. “I agree!”


	7. Chapter Six

As soon as Dean and Cas cleaned themselves up and got back to work (and Benny had washed the chocolate from his face), Benny pulled Cas aside as he cleaned up tables and dishes.

“Can’t go on, Cas,” he was saying, following Cas around as the younger man tried diligently to ignore him. “I’m talkin’ to you as a friend.” At that, Cas stopped briefly to scoff at the sheriff before continuing to the next table. Benny hurried to follow.

“There’s people in this town--payin’ customers too--but some people don’ like you sellin’ to coloreds!”

Cas stopped abruptly to stare Benny down. “Tell you what. Next time those ‘some people’ come here, I’m gonna ask if they don’ want nobody to know who they are under those sheets when they go marchin’ in those stupid parades, how come they don’ have the sense to change their shoes?” he asked angrily, poking Benny’s arm hard. Benny frowned at him.

“Now, hold on there--”

“Ya’ll ain’ foolin’ nobody,” Cas continued, turning his attention back to cleaning the table. “I recognize those size fourteen clodhoppers you got there anywhere.”

“Just a minute, Cas--”

“You’re in my way, Sheriff,” Cas interrupted, looking pointedly over Benny’s shoulder to the kitchen door. Benny sighed heavily, stepping to the side.

“Look, I’ll talk to the boys, you just keep them all out back there, ya hear?” he said, jerking his head out the window where Big Victor was barbecuing for the group of coloreds lounging in the grass. Cas didn’t reply, ignoring the raised eyebrows from Dean as he dumped the dirty dishes in the sink.

“You’re gonna get yourself in a heap a trouble.”

Cas turned quickly, staring at Dean. “Don’ tell me you agree with him.”

“Course not,” Dean assured him. “But he is sheriff...”

“Says the one who spread chocolate all over the sheriff’s face,” Cas pointed out. Dean didn’t seem to have a response to that.

“‘Sides, Benny’s harmless,” Cas continued, turning back to the dishes. “Shoulda seen that big ox down by the river three solid days, cryin’ like a baby ‘cause Rufus, that old colored man who raised him, died. ‘Member that, Missouri?” Cas asked just as Missouri entered from outside.

“Yessuh,” Missouri agreed, shooing him away from the dishes and taking over. “Don’ make no sense, big bear like Benny won’ sit next ta a colored child, but he eat eggs shoot right outta chicken’s ass.”

A loud guffaw burst from Dean in surprise. Missouri looked back at him with a shrug.

“That’s the truth of it, ‘n’ ya know it!”

* * *

Whistle Stop bustled with excitement that year when July rolled around. Sure most of everyone had Big Victor’s barbecue and Dean’s pie every day, but Indepence Day was an excuse to have larger servings and maybe even seconds. Cas set up a few raffle drawings for free food and late that night everyone gathered outside to watch Reverend Singer’s fireworks show. Everyone, that is, except Dean. Dean stayed behind at the cafe to clean up, letting Cas go on with everyone else. Cas tried to convince him to come along, but Dean was insistent, and then the first few cracks hit the air. Cas looked torn for a few seconds before giving in and running outside to watch the show.

Years ago when Dean had been about eight or nine years old and John Winchester was fighting over in Europe and Mary was paying the bills by doing the housekeeping for a few neighbors, Dean and Sam decided to celebrate Independence Day. Dean had managed to steal a load of fireworks from the market downtown and found a good enough hiding place that neither Sammy nor Mary found them. Late that night, after Mary had crashed in her bed and Dean was sure she wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon, he woke up Sammy and showed him the pile of fireworks. The look of surprise and excitement on Sam’s face had Dean thinking he’d be stealing fireworks for the both of them for years to come.

The two boys carried the fireworks carefully outside and about a mile away from the house where there was a nice little clearing nestled between some trees. Using the matches they’d lifted from the kitchen, they lit the fireworks and watched them shoot off. It was at least an hour before all of them were gone, and I’ll be honest, it was a goddamn miracle neither one of those boys lost a finger. And that their momma never found out neither.

After all the fireworks were gone and they had found their way back home, Sam suddenly surprised Dean by wrapping him up in as much of a bear hug as a skinny five year old can give.

“Thanks, Dean. Momma or Daddy woulda never let us do somethin’ like that. It was great.”

* * *

That winter was one of the more warm winters the people of Whistle Stop could remember. Really, the only reason people even remembered it was technically winter was the holidays. Everything else was just business as usual. The cafe still had a steady flow of customers, Big Victor still barbecued in the back every day, and the skeeters still buzzed. Little Sammy was two and a half now, and it was officially getting to the point where Dean couldn’t remember for the life of him how he’d managed to have the energy to take care of Sammy Senior back in the day. The time of night when the little one finally fell asleep (usually from pure exhaustion) was the best part of the day, when Dean would just collapse in the rocking chair next to the crib. Cas was usually closing up the cafe for the night at that point, but Missouri was always nearby if Dean needed an extra pair of hands.

One night after Little Sammy had fallen asleep, Dean heard a commotion outside. Before he could force himself to his feet and to the window, the front door burst open. Dean jumped, heart leaping to his throat when he recognized the figure walking into his house.

“Aby.”

Those hazel-grey eyes met his, and she smirked. All of a sudden Missouri was in the room, broom in her hands, and was batting at the taller woman like she was a cat.

“Git outta here! Git on outta here!” she hissed viciously, as Aby watched her bemusedly. “Go on ‘n’ git outta here ‘n’ leave us ‘lone!”

Aby ignored her easily, stepping towards Dean, who suddenly realized he hadn’t moved and that Little Sammy was still sleeping peacefully in the crib. In a few short steps Dean was standing between Aby and the crib, shoulders back and a determined set to his jaw.

“Come on now, Dean,” Aby said, sweet as venom. “You wouldn’ deny a mother the right to see her son, would ya?”

“You git, I say!” Missouri spat, scurrying back to Dean’s side, still beating at Aby with the broom. “Scat you!”

But Aby kept advancing until she could see over Dean’s shoulder into the crib. “Well. That’s my boy, isn’ it?”

Dean was tight as a coil, ready to spring and do what he could to protect his son, but then Chuck, unassuming, scraggly Chuck, appeared in the doorway.

“Everythin’ okay here, sir?” he asked, sounding just a touch drunk.

“Our guest was just leavin’,” Dean said, as calm and steady as he could. Aby’s eyebrows went high, but then Chuck was pushed aside by a tall man in white and a pointed hood, flaming torch in hand.

“Come on, Aby, let’s go.”

Aby glanced over her shoulder to the new intruder, looking thoroughly annoyed. But she turned back to Dean with another poisonous smile.

“I’ll be back.”

Aby started to turn away but snatched the broom from Missouri’s grasp, fast as a snake, throwing it aside.

“I ain’ scared a you!” Missouri snapped. “No ma’am!”

“You should be,” Aby growled. And then she was gone.

Dean sank back against the crib as the tension seeped away. Chuck entered the house cautiously as Missouri scampered out the door to watch Aby leave.

“You all right, sir?” he asked. Dean nodded firmly, regaining his footing.

“We’re all right, Chuck. Thank you. Missouri?” Dean called, going after her. Missouri’s face suddenly reappeared in the doorway, eyes wide and face drawn.

“They got my boy, suh!” she whispered hoarsely. “They got Big Victor!”

Dean was out of the door, running towards the circle of men in white before he even realized it. Pushing through the wall of white cloth Dean finally made it to the center where Big Victor was on his knees, shirt torn as one hooded figure slashed open the skin on his back with a whip. Dean was immediately beside him, working blindly on the ropes holding Big Victor’s wrists together.

“Let go a him!” he screamed at the one with the whip, hysterical with rage. First his little boy was threatened, and now this? God, Dean hated these horrible people, trying to be anonymous with stupid coned hoods.

Suddenly there were strong arms pulling him back, a familiar gruff voice barking at him. “Lemme handle this!”

Dean resisted until the arms whirled him around, shaking him hard. “Lemme handle this, Dean, ya hear me?” Benny hissed. Dean blinked, confused for a moment, before stepping back as Benny stalked towards the one with the whip.

“We seen how you treat your niggers ‘round here,” the stranger called, “‘n’ we don’ like it.”

“Well, I’m the law in these parts,” Benny replied calmly. “I don’ care what you like or don’ like. Turn ‘im loose.”

“Don’ get riled up, nigga lover.”

“You deaf or somethin’?” Benny asked, and Dean was glad to finally hear a tone of anger in his voice. “I said let ‘im go ‘fore you get yourselves in a whole lotta trouble!”

“Calm down,” the stranger said, raising a hand in surrender. “We wanted to have a little get-together ‘n’ make sure we see eye-to-eye on some things. You hear me now?” He turned to his comrades. “Let’s let ‘im go, boys. We had enough fun for one night. Let ‘im loose.”

Dean hurried to Big Victor’s side as soon as he was loose, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and helping him to his feet. Slowly they made their way to the cafe as Benny continued with the Klan.

“Now that’s more like it. Seems I don’ recognize any of you boys. Ya’ll ain’ from Whistle Stop, are ya?”

Dean stopped listening as they entered the cafe. Cas came out of the kitchen at the sound of the door opening, drying his hands with a towel. He dropped the towel when he saw Dean and Big Victor, rushing to help them to the kitchen.

“What the hell happened?” he asked as he wet a fresh rag to clean Big Victor’s back.

“Kluxers,” Dean murmured, adrenaline starting to fade. “Aby was with ‘em.”

Cas looked up sharply. “You sure it was her?”

Dean only nodded wearily, slumping against a counter. Benny entered the kitchen, frowning at the gruesome picture of slashed open skin.

“Ya all right, Big Victor?” he asked gently. Big Victor nodded numbly.

“I be fine, thanks ta you ‘n’ Mista Dean.”

Benny nodded, reassured before meeting Cas’s gaze steadily. “Just so you know, Cas. I don’ wear no size fourteen.”

* * *

Later that night, after Missouri tutted over her son and thanked Dean and Cas profusely, after Dean retrieved a still sleeping Sammy from his crib and took him to bed with himself and Cas, Cas wrapped his arms tightly around both Dean and the baby.

“You think Big Victor was just a distraction?”

“From Aby?” Dean clarified. “Dunno. She mighta just hitched a ride. Or maybe she told everyone I got run over by a Brinks Armoured truck ‘n’ tragically died ‘n’ got remarried.”

Cas smiled slightly. “Well, don’ worry. If she ever comes back, I’ll take care of her. I’m sure I can think a somethin’.”

“Don’ take any chances,” Dean whispered, burying his face in Little Sammy’s soft hair. “Promise me you won’ do anythin’ crazy, no matter what.”

Cas gaped at him. “Me? Not me!” he said, as innocent as possible. Dean only shook his head, kissing his son’s hair softly.


	8. Chapter Seven

Only a couple nights later was when it happened. Most of the town stayed happily oblivious until that man Crowley came around, a little pompous looking man from Georgia, accent like he lived on a plantation and knew he was better than everyone else. Dean even was away from the house, spending the evening at Charlie’s, and had no idea.

Aby showed up again, bursting through the cafe door. Missouri was looking after Dean’s baby and Big Victor’s little girl as she wiped down the cafe floor. As soon as Missouri recognized the fiery red hair she was screaming for her granddaughter to go get help, cut off short when Aby backhanded her. Missouri fell to the floor with a thud, and Aby grabbed Little Sammy’s basket and stalked away.

Chuck saw Aby storming towards her truck and recognized the basket and the screams coming from it and tried to stop her. But Chuck had already had a few to drink that night and was easily thrown back.

You’re worried. I can tell. I would be too, but let me assure you Aby did not succeed in taking Little Sammy away from his family. You see, Big Victor’s little girl had managed to slip out the cafe when Aby had hit Missouri, and ran for her daddy, and Big Victor ran for Cas. Cas was at the Town Follies helping out backstage, and after Big Victor quickly explained what was going on, Cas dropped everything to run back home, ready to do whatever was necessary.

That was the last anyone saw of Aby Sands.

It was only a couple days later that that Crowley man showed up. Sheriff Fergus Crowley, he introduced himself to Benny (which Benny graciously didn’t laugh at). From Lawrence, Georgia, here looking for a missing woman. Benny knew immediately what was going on. He wasn’t stupid, you know. The lunch hour was just getting started when Benny took Crowley to the cafe. Dean was happily setting out pies for dessert as Cas served up big fat slices.

“What can I do for you boys?” Dean greeted, eyes falling on the stranger with curiosity and a little bit of trepidation. Benny smiled tightly at him before looking over to where Cas was handing a customer a slice of pie.

“Cas.”

Cas glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “Benny.”

“This here is Sheriff Fergus Crowley,” Benny said, keeping his eyes locked on Cas as he gestured to the shorter man next to him. Cas only barely managed not to snicker. Crowley raised a condescending eyebrow in Cas’s direction.

“Hi there.”

“He’s over here from Georgia,” Benny continued, a quiet warning in his tone. “He’s lookin’ for a lady.” It was only because he was looking for it that he caught the flash of recognition in Cas’s eyes. Meanwhile Crowley pulled out a picture and held it out for both Cas and Dean to look at.

“You recognize her?”

Cas gave the picture a cursory glance. “No sir.”

Dean, however, completely oblivious to the tension from Cas and Benny, nodded. “That’s my wife, but I haven’ seen her in ages.”

Cas laughed a little too awkwardly. “I heard she got run over by a Brinks Armoured truck. What’s she done?”

“Nothin’ that we know of. We’re tryin’ to figure out what’s been done to her. She told her hired hand she was comin’ to see her husband ‘n’ baby, but she ain’ never showed up back home.”

“Hell, I told ‘im if she showed up in this town we’d all’ve known,” Benny contributed. “Looks a little sissified to me. From what I hear, most ya’ll in Georgia are a little light on your feet. That’s the way I heard it.”

“Could I interest you in some pie?” Dean said, quickly grabbing the closest pie and showing it off to a smoldering Crowley. Crowley looked away from glaring daggers at Benny to take in the pie appraisingly.

“No sir. But that barbecue smells mighty good.”

“Best damn barbecue in the state of Alabama,” Benny agreed.

* * *

As I’m sure you can imagine, things were tense in the cafe that day. Crowley was happy to stop questioning as soon as the barbecue showed up, though, so Cas just made sure that Missouri kept taking him more and more. Nearly everyone had left to go home for the night when Cas started cleaning up, but Crowley was just finishing off the last of his latest plateful. Cas threw him a grin as he took the plate.

“That’s your fourth one today,” he said. “I swear you’re ‘bout to eat up all my barbecue.”

“Sit down,” Crowley said calmly, wiping the sauce off his fingers.

Cas raised an eyebrow at the cool tone. Crowley looked up when Cas didn’t move and met his eyes stonily.

“Sit down.”

Slowly, Cas sat down. Crowley looked him up and down before speaking again.

“You ain’ foolin’ me, mister. I know who you are.” Crowley smiled tightly when Cas looked confused. “I heard from Winchester’s hired hand you threatened to kill Aby.”

Cas clenched his teeth, crossing his arms across his chest. “She ain’ showed up dead yet.”

Crowley nodded. “But if she does you in a whole mess a trouble. You understand? What we talkin’ ‘bout here is murder. Runnin’ afoul a the law ‘n’ ain’ nobody gets away with that, not even a buncha Alabama smart alecks.” Crowley looked suddenly a lot more threatening than he had all day, and Cas bit his tongue to keep from giving any sort of retort. “If I find so much as a hair from her head I’ll arrest you faster than you can slap a tick. ‘Cause I’m the law. ‘N’ you can’t beat the law.”

Cas thought maybe he could taste blood on his tongue. With a tight smile, he managed to nod his understanding before standing up and taking the dishes back to the kitchen.

* * *

Late that night Cas stopped by the little house Missouri and Big Victor lived in. There were conversations that needed to be had, and they needed to be had now. But before Cas let himself in he realized there was another voice coming from inside.

“You sure you ain’ never seen this woman, boy?”

Cas let his forehead fall softly on the wall, cursing Crowley to hell and back silently. But Big Victor wasn’t dumb. Cas had to trust he could handle it. And Missouri was very good at keeping her mouth shut when she needed to. Big Victor’s little girl might be a problem, but Cas had to trust Big Victor. He had to.

“Yessuh, I already told ya. I ain’ never seen her.”

“You’d do anythin’ for Mr Novak, wouldn’ you?”

“Yessuh.”

Cas closed his eyes and prayed for the first time in his life.

“Would ya kill for him?” There was a pause. “Did ya kill for him?”

“Nosuh.”

“Well. Now maybe one of these days you’ll tell the truth. Just remember we hang lyin’ niggers in Georgia just as fast as they do in Alabama.”

“Yessuh, I ‘member.”

Cas swallowed heavily. That went about as well as he could’ve hoped probably. As quick as he could Cas gathered himself back up and slipped away before Crowley came out of the house.

It was dark but Cas knew these woods like the back of his hand, and besides, he was only headed back to the cafe. He needed to work off some energy before heading back to the house. And maybe a snack. The lights were on in the cafe when he came up to it, though, so he stopped to take a moment and compose himself. With both Big Victor and Missouri at home, it had to be Dean inside.

Sure enough Dean was in one of the booths, back to the door, cigarette between his fingers, and oddly still. Cas tiptoed in, making sure the door moved as silently as possible. Quietly, smirking to himself, he took off his hat and dropped it suddenly on Dean’s head. Dean flinched so hard the hat toppled to the table, and he whipped his head around with wide eyes. Cas grinned at him, taking the hat back, but Dean didn’t quite relax.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Cas asked, jumping onto a stool next to the table.

“No milk in the house,” Dean answered, voice tense. “Where were you?”

“Takin’ care of business,” Cas said with a careless shrug. Dean frowned at him skeptically but looked back at the table, lifting the cigarette to his lips, when Cas didn’t offer any more of an explanation. It was quiet except for a train in the distance for a few minutes until Dean spoke again.

“I been thinkin’,” he started, scraping a blunt nail along the texture of the table. “Maybe I should move on.” He looked up when Cas made a sharp movement. “Cause of Aby ‘n’ all. I just don’ want you to... to feel like you gotta look out for us or anythin’. I just.” He swallowed heavily, looking back down to the table. “Don’ wanna be selfish, that’s all.” He shrugged. “Maybe if I wasn’ here, you’d be able to find some pretty girl ‘n’ settle down.”

Cas was on his feet by this point, eyes wide and wet, throat tight. He reached out to take Dean by the chin, forcing the older man to look at him. “I’m as settled as I ever hoped to be,” he said firmly, trying with everything that he had to make Dean understand.

Dean shook his head out of Cas’s grip taking a quick puff from his cigarette. “Then why can’t you tell me where you were?”

Cas stepped back, swallowing heavily. Dean smiled weakly at him and looked out the window.

“Y’know. I had a dream the other night,” he said quietly. Maybe if he said it quiet enough it wouldn’t be as bad. “I dreamt that Sammy was gone. When I woke up I ran to his crib ‘n’ there he was, sleepin’ like an angel. ‘N’ I thanked god for lettin’ me still have Sammy. ‘N’ I ‘membered...” He trailed off.

Cas slid into the seat across from Dean, reaching over the table to place a hand on Dean’s. Dean let out a watery huff, running a thumb against the side of Cas’s finger. He took one last drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out on the table.

“I ‘membered havin’ the same reaction after Aby would... would walk away. Just thankin’ the Lord ‘n’ anythin’ else for, for givin’ me the strength. ‘N’ for each night that my momma made it through. Even when she was spittin’ up blood ‘n’ didn’ recognize me ‘n’... ‘n’ all I could do was pray ‘n’ hope ‘n’ wish.” Dean looked up at Cas now, something dark glinting in his eyes.

“While you were gone, as I was holdin’ Sammy, I thought if that... bastard Aby Sands... ever tries to take my child I won’ pray.” Dean smiled fiercely. “I’ll break her neck.”

Cas took in the expression on Dean’s face with a long inhale, picking at the raw spot on his tongue from earlier with his teeth.

“Dean. You don’ hafta worry ‘bout Aby Sands no more.”

Dean shook his head with a short laugh. “Sammy’s hers too, Cas. You can’t say that.”

Cas took Dean’s hand with both of his own and squeezed. “I’m only gonna say this one more time, Dean. Aby Sands won’ be botherin’ you no more. Understand?”

Dean looked at him with a strange sort of calm. “You killed her, didn’ you?”

“No!” Cas protested, drawing back. Dean smiled and nodded, looking down at his hands.

“You don’ believe me,” Cas recognized. Dean shrugged helplessly.

“I don’ know what to believe anymore.”

Cas moved swiftly to the other side of the table, right up next to Dean’s side. “Believe me when I tell you I don’ want you to move out,” he said softly, brushing a hand on Dean’s cheek. Dean’s smile finally turned into something genuine, and he nodded. A small rush of relief went up Cas’s spine, and he leaned in to press a kiss to Dean’s lips.


	9. Chapter Eight

It didn’t work out quite that easily, though, but nothing ever does. That Crowley man stayed in town for weeks before leaving to go back to Georgia, but he only stayed away for a couple days. At first Dean stopped spending so much time at the cafe and started spending more time with Little Sammy. Cas was fine with that. He, Missouri, and Big Victor could handle the cafe on their own, and he knew how uncomfortable Crowley made Dean. The couple days Crowley was gone things almost seemed like they might go back to normal finally, but the moment Crowley showed up in the cafe asking for more of that damn fine barbecue Dean was gone.

At the end of that day Cas went home expecting to find Dean with the baby in his arms, rocking him to sleep and singing a quiet lullaby. But no one was there. Confused, Cas went to his momma’s and sure enough, Mrs Novak was still looking after Little Sammy. Cas took the baby home and put him to bed. After an hour or so, Cas gave up and went to bed himself. At some point in the night Cas was dimly aware of Dean joining him in bed, but by the time Cas woke in the morning Dean was already gone.

It continued like this for about two weeks. Dean would occasionally make an appearance at the cafe but only to pick up some food, and he acted dodgy and gave noncommittal answers when Cas tried to talk to him. Cas started spending less time at the cafe himself but only to spend more time taking care of a rapidly growing Little Sammy. After two weeks of trying to get an explanation out of Dean and seeing less and less of him, however, Cas gave up.

That night Dean came home in the wee hours of the morning to find his bed strangely empty. A quick look told him the crib was empty too. In fact, the entire house was empty. Heart thudding wildly in his throat, Dean ran to Missouri and Big Victor’s shack where he banged on the door ferociously until a half-awake and very grouchy looking Missouri answered it. Her mood didn’t improve in the slightest when Dean frantically asked her where his son was.

“Wif Mista Cas at his momma’s house, I ‘spect,” she grumbled, turning back inside and closing the door before Dean replied. Dean wasted no time sprinting to the Novak house and redoing the whole routine when a bleary-eyed Anna opened the door. Anna didn’t say a word in response to Dean’s question, too tired to do anything but give him an annoyed scowl and trudge to the room where Cas and Little Sammy were sleeping, knocking on the door gently. After a moment Cas’s head poked out. Anna indicated where Dean was fidgeting in the doorway before making her way slowly back to her own bedroom. Cas straightened up when he recognized Dean, any sign of sleepiness vanished.

“What?” Cas asked tersely, coming towards Dean and folding his arms rigidly across his chest.

“Where’s my son?” Dean demanded.

“Sleepin’,” Cas replied. Dean bristled.

“Why’re you here?” he asked. A muscle in Cas’s jaw ticked.

“Not sure if you have the right to ask that question as you been ignorin’ my askin’ where you been for the past two weeks.” Cas didn’t even blink at Dean’s look of utter incredulity. “But the fact is, I moved out.”

There was a beat of silence as this information sunk in. As soon as it did Dean felt several tidal waves of emotion hit him all at once.

“You--you moved--you can’t be--but--I--” Dean stuttered. Cas merely raised an eyebrow and waited for Dean to spit out a complete sentence.

“You can’t take my child!” Dean finally concluded desperately. Of course that wasn’t the only reason Dean was hysterical, but this was a simpler explanation. It was easier. At this outcry, though, Cas showed emotion beyond impatience for the first time that night.

“Your child?” he echoed viciously. “If he really was your child you’d actually take care a him, wouldn’ ya? You wouldn’ just leave for days on end without so much as a kiss, would ya? After all, the Dean I know would never just abandon his son with absolutely no explanation, would he?”

At first Dean looked shocked. Then he looked furious.

“You can’t just take my son away from me!” he barked, a fair bit too loudly for this hour of the night. And when Cas didn’t seem perturbed by this declaration at all Dean marched forward, intending to storm in and take the baby back himself. Cas stepped in front of him quickly, barring his way.

“He’s my son!” Dean yelled wildly, trying to shove Cas out of his way. “You can’t just--”

There was a crack like a whip and suddenly silence. A train whistled in the distance.

Dean was staring at Cas open-mouthed, eyes watering slightly, and his left cheek a vivid shade of red. Cas glared back at him, breathing heavily, right hand stinging madly at his side. Almost hesitantly, Dean raised a hand to touch gently at his cheek, all the fight yanked out of him in an instant. The animosity in Cas’s expression drained away as Dean looked bewildered at the fingertips that had touched his cheek. Cas opened his mouth to speak, but Dean turned on his heel and ran out the door before he could utter a single word.

The next day Charlie Bradbury found a thoroughly miserable Dean Winchester sitting in her bar. Bracing herself for the worst, she sat down across from him, expression saying she meant business.

“You look like a lizard with a hangover.”

Dean didn’t look up from where he was intently contemplating the red glow at the end of his cigarette. “Cas moved out.”

Charlie didn’t look entirely surprised. “Why?”

“He’s mad at me.”

“Figured that,” Charlie said, lips pursed. “What’d you do?”

Dean shrugged. “Dunno.”

Charlie didn’t look convinced. “Really.”

Dean looked up to glare at her, but there wasn’t much energy behind it. “Dunno,” he repeated, looking back down to the cigarette. “Said somethin’ ‘bout me not takin’ care a Sammy.”

“Mmhm,” Charlie hummed. “So he moved out ‘cause you been missin’ the past couple weeks.”

“Sometimes I hate this town,” Dean mumbled, burying his face in his hands. “It’s just too damn small.”

Charlie reached out and slapped his ear.

“Ow!” Dean cried, rubbing at it and looking up at her in indignation. Charlie didn’t even blink.

“You wanna explain to me what the hell you think you’re doin’?”

Dean sighed heavily and some sort of mask seemed to slip. Instead of a miserable wretch or disgruntled prick sitting in front of her Charlie saw someone she didn’t recognize. She wondered if Cas would even recognize the poor soul now looking at her. Then again, Cas knew Dean better than anyone in this whole wide world so he probably did.

“‘M scared,” Dean admitted, voice a low and broken murmur. “That Crowley character’s always at the cafe, ‘n’ Aby could be showin’ up any day, or... or....” He swallowed with a loud clicking. “Or she’s dead ‘n’ Cas killed her ‘n’ eventually Crowley’s gonna figure it out ‘n’ arrest Cas ‘n’ he’s gonna be hanged ‘n’ then I dunno what I’m gonna do--”

“Hey,” Charlie interrupted quickly, reaching out to take his hand. “Dean, look at me.”

Shakily, Dean met her eyes. His own were glittering a little more than normal, but Charlie chose to ignore that. “First off,” she said, holding his gaze steadily, “Cas told ya you didn’ need to worry ‘bout Aby no more, ‘n’ if there’s anyone in this world I’d trust when they said that it’d be Cas. So, yeah, that pro’ly means she’s dead, but Cas said he didn’ kill her ‘n’ whether you believe ‘im or not is your business but,” she said quickly as Dean opened his mouth to speak, “but worryin’ ‘bout it ain’ gonna help you none. In fact, actin’ all twitchy ‘bout it ‘s gonna make that Crowley fella suspicious which also ain’ gonna help.”

Dean dropped his eyes, looking just as crestfallen as he had before Charlie had started. Charlie grabbed his hand with both of hers, squeezing tightly.

“Now you listen to me, Dean Winchester. You got lots a people who love you here in Whistle Stop, ‘n’ Cas loves you more than everyone else combined. He would die for you. ‘N’ I ain’ ‘bout to say he wouldn’ kill for you.”

Dean looked up to her, recalling a conversation long ago. There was honey at that conversation. Fresh honey.

“Even more than that, you got a kid. ‘N’ no matter what happens with Cas, if your fears ‘bout him gettin’ arrested ‘n’ all do come true, you got a kid. Who needs you. ‘N’ you can’t let him down.”

The next day Cas opened the door to a contrite and somber Dean. After a long conversation on the porch Cas went back inside to fetch Little Sammy, and they went back to their home. Dean didn’t disappear anymore.

* * *

Anyway.

Six years had passed since Aby Sands--Winchester--whatever you wanted to call her, had disappeared. That train bum, Chuck, had been missing ever since, but he came back that summer when it was good and hot and humid. On his way into town and towards the good old cafe he came across a group of kids running around and throwing a baseball. One of them just about ran smack into Chuck as he sprinted for the ball, apologizing profusely and ever so politely when he did. Chuck looked at the kid in awe.

“My god, son, yer the spittin’ image a Dean Winchester.”

The kid stood upright, brushing his long hair out of his eyes, baseball momentarily forgotten as he held out his right hand. “Sammy Winchester, Jr. Nice to meet you, sir.”

Chuck felt a little bubble of affection well up in his chest and took the eight-year-old’s hand firmly, shaking it. “Well, sir, Chuck Shurley.”

Fergus Crowley was making one of his visits to Whistle Stop, Alabama, still hunting and pecking for any scrap of evidence about Aby Winchester’s whereabouts. He was sitting quietly in a booth enjoying the barbecue when Chuck walked through the cafe door. Cas looked up from where he was washing down the counter and immediately brightened.

“Chuck!” he cried, coming around to greet the old friend. Dean heard the cry over the rumble of a nearing train outside and looked out from the kitchen to see what the fuss was about. Cas and Chuck were shaking hands vigorously while Cas went on about how long it’d been and what had he been up to and, boy, was it sure good to see him again.

“You know just ‘bout everybody here ‘cept Fergus Crowley,” Cas continued. “He’s the sheriff from over in Lawrence, Georgia. Been lookin’ for the same woman--’n’ not like that--for almost six years. Very stubborn fella. Loves our barbecue, though.”

Voices from outside interrupted the reunion, out by the tracks, frantic and shrill. Almost identical bolts of panic shot through both Cas and Dean as little Jessica Moore from Sammy’s school came running toward the cafe. Cas met her halfway, Dean rushing to follow, and slid down to one knee to her level, grabbing her tightly by the shoulders.

“What is it?” he hissed urgently. Jessica shook her head hysterically, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Little Sammy,” she sobbed. “He’s been run over by the train!”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks.

Cas looked back to where Missouri had now exited the cafe and bellowed, “Keep Dean inside!” And then he was running over to the tracks, Big Victor just two feet behind him. A sharp pang of relief washed through Cas when he finally saw Little Sammy, eyes wide and breathing erratically. He was alive. But Big Victor pushed past Cas, scooping the boy up in his arms and ran as fast as he could to Doctor Harvelle’s house. It was only then that Cas noticed the huge pool of blood on the tracks.

Dean watched Big Victor race by, his son in the big man’s arms, heart thudding painfully in his throat as he waited for the news, knowing, just knowing, he’d lost another Sammy.

Missouri, blocking Dean’s way from going to chase after Big Victor and the boy, glared upwards and wagged her finger furiously. “Don’ you do dis, Lord! Don’ you do dis to Mistas Dean ‘n’ Cas! Don’ you do dis thang! You hear me, God? Don’ do it!”

When Dr Harvelle saw Big Victor barrelling down the road, covered in blood with a now unconscious Little Sammy in his arms, he yelled for his wife to call the hospital and let them know they were coming. He hurried for the car, engine running before Big Victor had even folded himself and the boy into the back seat.

* * *

A week later a funeral was held in Whistle Stop.

Reverend Singer gave his usual remarks but with a touch of exasperation in his voice. Dean was whispering to Missouri who was standing next to him, looking as somber as anyone.

“I can understand,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “havin’ a funeral for an arm.” He glanced over to where Little Sammy stood, smirking at the headstone proudly, left sleeve of his jacket pinned up to the shoulder.

HERE LIES SAMMY JR’S ARM

1928--1936

SO LONG OLD PAL

Cas was standing directly behind Little Sammy, hands on his shoulders, expression even more somber than Missouri’s, but Dean could see the twinkle in the younger man’s bright eyes.

“I just don’ know why he insists on callin’ him ‘Stump’,” he grumbled. A small smile broke through Missouri’s somber mask, but she just shook her head.

“Ain’ nothin’ meant by it, suh. Mista Cas ‘s jus’ makin’ the best a it.”

* * *

Years ago, soon after Sam Senior’s death, Reverend Singer had trekked out to the riverbank where Cas and Big Victor had been staying. The reverend had a few words with Big Victor before the colored man nodded and disappeared into the trees. Singer sat down by where young Cas was sitting on a log with a fishing rod.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at the reverend, unimpressed. Misreading the expression as confusion, the reverend continued.

“Matthew 5:4.”

Cas rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the river. “What d’ya want?”

“The Bible tells us it is all right to grieve. In fact, it can be good. Refresh your perspective on life,” Reverend Singer explained. “The Bible also reminds us that grief is temporary. That little boy is with God now. You will see him again.”

“But only if I keep God’s commandments, right?” Cas replied scathingly. “Otherwise I end up in hell, fiery damnation ‘n’ all that.”

The reverend wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. “Come with your family to church this Sunday, Castiel,” he said, gathering himself up and getting to his feet. “The Lord can be a source of comfort in times like these.”

“No thanks, preacher,” Cas replied, tugging on his fishing line when it went taunt. “I’m doin’ fine right here.”


	10. Chapter Nine

The good Lord was watching over Little Sammy--or Stump--that day on the tracks. But then it started to rain that month. It rained and rained, that hard and thick rain you only find in the South, and it flooded parts of Whistle Stop. That’s why Benny’s deputies stumbled onto Aby Sands’ truck. Turned out it’d been at the bottom of the river for six years. Found it when they were dredging the mud out of the river, big old Ford truck now painted a thick brown. As soon as Benny saw the truck and realized what it meant, he knew right away Cas was in trouble.

Cas and Dean were relaxing with a deck of cards and a cigarette in the cafe when Benny approached.

“You in or out?” Dean was asking. “‘Member, I didn’ take any cards.”

Cas was frowning in concentration. “Look at me ‘n’ lemme see your face.”

“Cas, I hafta talk to you,” Benny interrupted calmly. Cas ignored him as Dean looked up, pokerface on in full force. Cas grinned.

“You’re bluffin’.”

“Why don’ you sit in?” Dean asked Benny, not responding to Cas’s declaration. “Sure Andrea won’t mind. I’ll deal you a new hand.”

“In private, Cas,” Benny said a little more forcefully. “Not today, Dean. Excuse us.”

Cas reached out to grab Dean’s cards and let out a shout of triumph.

“I’m just tryin’ to teach you not to fall for any tricks,” Dean said with a mild shrug.

“You’re doin’ a great job,” Cas replied as he followed Benny outside. “What’s your hurry?” he asked while Benny led him away from the cafe and closer to the river. There was the truck, covered in thick mud, a couple men walking around it and talking. Cas blinked.

“What’s that?”

“Somebody found Aby Sands’ truck in the river,” Benny answered, watching Cas closely.

“What’s that gotta do with me?” Cas folded his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow at Benny.

“Officially, you ‘n’ Big Victor’re under arrest for murder. You’re in my custody ‘til tomorrow. I’m supposed to take you to Georgia first thing in the mornin’.”

Benny had this significant look in his eyes, but Cas had no idea what it meant and so just stared at him. Benny sighed.

“Unless a course.... Well, some people been known to pack up ‘n’ sneak outta town in the middle a the night.”

“What ‘bout Big Victor?” Cas asked without a moment of hesitation.

“Well, the way I figure it,” Benny said, a note in his voice that made it clear Cas would not like what he was about to say, “they’d be satisfied if they had him.”

Cas looked incredulous.

“Cas, this is serious,” Benny said quickly before Cas could start cussing him out. “We’re talkin’ the murder of a connected ‘n’ smart white woman. Someone’s gonna hafta pay.”

“No deal,” Cas said shortly, turning to stalk back to the cafe. Benny grabbed him quickly by the elbow.

“Cas, I know how you feel ‘bout Big Victor. Everybody here loves him. Best damn barbecue I ever had, but these just the facts of life.”

“I can’t do it,” Cas said, yanking his arm out of Benny’s grip. “Take me to jail if you hafta.” And he stormed back across the street as Benny bellowed at him.

“That’s what I thought you’d say! ‘Cause you’re absolutely, unconditionally, positively the most stubborn person I ever known in my life!”

* * *

The next morning Cas and Big Victor went to the county jail in Lawrence to await trial for the murder of Aby Winchester. They didn’t have to wait too long.

Castiel Novak cleaned up good. Dean was realizing this a little distantly as he and Little Sammy and half of Whistle Stop settled down in the courtroom. His hair was still a mess, all wind blown and ruffled, and his tie was backwards, but over all and, well. Compared to what he usually wore? Cas looked good.

The prosecutor was kind of an asshole, though. Dean almost muttered as such before he remembered his son was sitting right next to him. He hadn’t caught the asshole’s name either. But he was all cocky and sure of himself, waving a cigarette in the air, as he came down on Cas like a hammer.

“Did you know Abaddon Winchester, also known as Aby?”

“No sir.”

“You mean you never met the woman whose husband, Dean, is your business partner?” the prosecutor asked, making a point to show his skepticism.

“That’s right.”

“You never threatened to kill Aby Winchester at her home, in front of her hired man, in September of 1928?” There was an air of the prosecutor already knowing the answer to this question that made Dean want to smack him. “The same Aby Winchester you say you did not know.”

“Oh that was me all right,” Cas replied casually. “I thought you wanted to know if we ever met. ‘N’ the answer is no. I threatened to kill her, but we were never, what you might say, properly introduced.”

The crowd chuckled quietly. Dean stopped himself from smiling by reminding himself this wasn’t actually a funny situation they were in. Really, this was not the time to be making jokes.

“Is it not true that at that same time when you threatened Mrs Winchester you took her husband ‘n’ newborn child away from her ‘n’ back to Alabama with you?” the prosecutor continued after the laughter died away.

“I wouldn’ say I took ‘em,” Cas said with a look of annoyance. “Dean came on his own. I just helped.”

The prosecutor completely ignored him. Dean could see Cas bristling and couldn’t really blame him.

“I suggest that you enticed this poor, innocent man with promises of adventure ‘n’ liquor,” the lawyer announced dramatically. Dean stared at him in disbelief. Poor, innocent man? Obviously this man had never met Dean Winchester.

“‘N’ he lost control of his senses momentarily,” the lawyer continued. “When his wife went to Alabama to try to reunite with her husband ‘n’ son, you ‘n’ your colored man murdered her in cold blood.”

“No sir,” Cas replied. He was grinding his teeth. Dean could see the little muscle jumping in his jaw.

“Well, where were you on the night of December 12th, 1930?”

“I was at the town hall doin’ a show.” Which was the truth, Dean knew it was the truth. He just didn’t know if Cas had ever left town hall.

“And after that?”

“I was at my momma’s house.”

“Who was with you?”

“Just Big Victor ‘n’ myself.”

“What ‘bout your mother? Can she confirm that?”

“No sir,” Cas bit, unable to keep the venom out any longer. “She died ‘bout a year ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Dean scoffed. Little Sammy looked up at him with a confused frown. Dean shook his head and returned his full attention to the prosecutor.

“But do you expect twelve intelligent men,” he nodded at the jury, “to believe you, although one witness is dead ‘n’ the other a colored man known to be a worthless, no-good, lyin’ nigger?”

“Big Victor ain’ a liar,” Little Sammy protested quietly. Dean put an arm around him, pulling him in close to his side.

“You expect these men to take your word for it just because you say so?”

Cas was a little red in the face from trying to stop himself from cursing at the lawyer like he usually would’ve. But at the incredulity from the man Cas burst.

“That’s right you gump-faced, blown-up, baboon-assed bastard!”

The people of Whistle Stop erupted in mirth. Little Sammy was staring at Cas with a smile that Dean was sure he didn’t like. The judge banged his gavel loudly, looking disapprovingly at the laughing crowd.

“That’s enough! One more outburst like that,” he said warningly, looking directly at Cas, “I’ll hold you in contempt of court. You understand?”

The muscle in Cas’s jaw was jumping wildly now, but he nodded. “Yes sir.”

* * *

Not too much later it was Dean’s turn. God, there were more people here than he’d thought. Little Sammy was sitting with Inias and Muriel now, looking up at Dean with curiosity. Dean still wasn’t sure he really understood what was going on.

“Your son had been born several months before you left Lawrence, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“So you ‘n’ your wife had been raising the boy together for several months before you left?”

“Yes sir.”

“And yet you tell us over ‘n’ over that you went with this man, Castiel Novak, willingly?”

Dean looked up at the lawyer, looking him straight in the eyes. “Yes sir. I wouldn’ raise my child with Aby Sands.”

“But why?” the prosecutor pushed. “Did this man promise you money?”

Dean huffed a laugh. “No.”

“Less responsibility?”

Dean couldn’t help the amused smile. Less responsibility. That was a laugh. “No.”

“Then tell us, Mr Winchester, why would a respectable Christian man such as yourself go anywhere with this Castiel Novak--”

“I object.”

There was Cas’s defense finally speaking up. Dean looked towards him hopefully, but the judge didn’t say anything.

“--Whose reputation is known far ‘n’ wide as a notorious liar ‘n’ drunkard--”

Oh, Cas was the drunkard, was he? Notoriously. Probably because he was such a lightweight.

“Objection!”

“Sustained.”

Dean deflated in relief. The prosecutor kept on, rephrasing.

“Why did you leave with Castiel Novak that day?”

How was he supposed to answer that question? He couldn’t answer that question. Not really, anyway. He’d be locked away right with Cas, and then where would Little Sammy be? Dean swallowed thickly, fiddling with the tip of his tie.

“Answer the question, Mr Winchester,” the judge ordered gently.

Dean closed his eyes briefly, steeling himself up, and then locked eyes with Cas. “‘Cause he... he’s the best friend I ever had. ‘N’ I need him.”

Dean didn’t notice how quiet it was in the hot and muggy room. He didn’t notice the looks on the prosecutor and the judge’s faces. All he noticed was the slightly shocked look in Cas’s eyes, and it made Dean feel sick. Did Cas really not know?

“Thank you, Mr Winchester” the prosecutor said quietly. “That will be all.”

Dean stepped down quickly, hurrying to sit back beside Sammy, making a point not to meet anyone’s eyes.

* * *

It was late. Everyone was tired and drenched in sweat. Even Cas was slumped in his chair looking ready to just be done with this whole thing.

“The defense calls as its last witness,” the lawyer called, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief, “the Reverend Robert Singer.”

The sigh of relief was immediately retracted from a few individuals in the room. Namely, Cas and Dean.

In walked the reverend, straight backed and important, headed directly for the front of the room. The usual Bible was presented.

“Place your right hand on the Bible please.”

“I brought my own if you don’ mind,” Reverend Singer offered, showing the thick book that had been tucked under his arm. Dean only barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

“Do you swear to tell the truth ‘n’ nothing but the truth?”

“I do.”

And then the reverend was sitting in the witness stand, and Dean tried to keep breathing. The reverend hated them both, and it’s not like they’d ever done anything to stop that. Hell, they’d encouraged it, antagonizing the old man like it was their job. It was gonna come and kick them in the ass now, wasn’t it? Why had Cas’s lawyer called him?

“You have information ‘bout the whereabouts of Castiel Novak ‘n’ his colored man, known as Big Victor, on the night of December 12th, 1930?” the defense started.

“Yes sir, I do.”

“It has been suggested here that he ‘n’ his colored man were at his mother’s house. Can you confirm that?”

“No sir. That is a lie,” Reverend Singer declared definitively. A fierce but quiet “shit” in Cas’s gravelly tone traveled through the mutterings, and Dean felt his heart jump to his throat.

“It has been my habit,” the reverend continued, “to write all the dates of the activities of the church in my Bible. I show that the night of December the 12th, 1930 was the start of our annual revival down at the Baptist campground.”

Dean blinked in confusion. Surely he couldn’t be hearing this right.

“Brother Novak was there ‘long with his hired man, Victor Henriksen, who was in charge of the barbecue as he has been for the past ten years.”

Dean was staring quite openly, but he couldn’t help himself. Brother Novak?

“Objection,” came the prosecutor. “That doesn’ mean anythin’. Murder coulda taken place anytime the next couple days.”

“Have you ever been to one a our revivals, sir?” Reverend Singer asked before the judge could respond.

“Well, no.”

“Do you attend church regularly, sir?”

The prosecutor looked offended. “‘Course I do.”

“Good.” And there was that demeaning tone Dean was so used to hearing from the reverend, like he was talking to a small child. “Well, maybe if you attended one a our revivals you’d know they last three days and three nights, Your Honor.”

The reverend directed the last bit to the judge, all respectful like, and Dean’s grip on Little Sammy’s shoulder tightened. He wouldn’t allow himself to celebrate yet, but.... Well, by god. Cas might just get out of this.

“And you’re sure Mr Novak was there?”

Reverend Singer seemed offended anyone would doubt his word. “Of course he was,” he huffed. “Brother Novak holds a perfect attendance record at all our church activities ‘n’ is the lead singer in our church choir.”

If Dean hadn’t been so shocked and the situation hadn’t been so serious he would’ve laughed right out loud.

“In fact, we think so much of Brother Novak at our church the entire congregation has come in a bus to testify on his behalf.”

There was a brief moment of chaos as the doors of the courtroom opened and in walked a crowd of people lead by none other than Chuck Shurley himself. One by one the ragged people of Whistle Stop took the stand and testified, remembering in great detail the revival of 1930. Last but not least was Sister Charlie Bradbury wearing a flowered hat and carrying a purse. She took the stand and almost broke the jury’s heart as she recalled how Brother Novak had leaned over to her during the first night of the revival and had remarked how God had touched his heart that night due to Reverend Singer’s inspired preaching on the evils of whiskey and the lusts of the flesh.

Dean could’ve kissed her.

The judge, on the other hand, was looking a little angry. “Approach the bench.”

Both lawyers walked forward. It was silent enough in the room that every word the judge said, though he started off with a low tone, was clearly heard.

“Alastair, it don’ look like you got a case at all. In the first place, there’s no body. Second, we got us a preacher nobody’s gonna dispute.”

“But Your Honor--”

“I’m tellin’ you what you got is a whole lot of nothin’,” the judge barreled on. “I say Abaddon Winchester got herself drunk, drove into the river, ‘n’ got eaten up long time ago, ‘n’ I don’ give a good goddamn!” His voice rang through the room, echoing off the walls, and Cas was looking back at Dean, positively beaming.

“What we got here is a case of accidental death,” the judge announced to the whole crowd. “Case dismissed!”

Cas was on his feet with a whoop, tugging Big Victor up and giving him a tight hug that looked absolutely ridiculous. Dean felt a little weak, but kissed Little Sammy on the forehead before pulling him along as they went to meet Cas.

“I can’t believe he actually swore on the Bible,” Cas hissed, eyes wide and bright.

“Well, not really,” came Balty Novak’s familiar drawl right behind Dean. Dean whirled around. Balty smiled crookedly at him, Gabe at his elbow looking just as excited as Cas.

“If that judge had looked closer,” Gabe said in a whisper, “he’da seen it was really a copy of ‘Moby Dick’.”

Balty winked at them. “You’re welcome.” And then he was slipping away through the crowd.

“But why’d he do it?” Dean asked, utterly baffled. Gabe grinned, and there was something in that grin that made Dean suspicious. Of course, this was Gabe, so most of his grins seemed suspicious.

“For the sheer joy of seein’ you two ‘n’ Little Sammy here,” he ruffled Sammy’s hair and Sammy jerked back, batting irritably at Gabe’s hand, “back in church. Which we mighta suggested be your penance.”

“You didn’ promise ‘im, did you?” Cas asked, looking horrified. Gabe nodded.

“Sure did. ‘N’ I never break my word.”

“If I live a thousand years I will never forgive you,” Dean said, staring at Gabe in betrayal. Cas shook his head, sitting back down like he couldn’t bear to be on his own two feet anymore.

“I don’ know what’s worse, church or jail.”


	11. Chapter Ten

After the trial was over everything went back to normal, except there were three new members to the congregation in the chapel every Sunday. The weekend after the trial Dean and Cas decided to celebrate and took Little Sammy to the old honey tree down by that magical stream. They laid out the picnic blanket, and Cas went through the same routine as he had the first time, all mysterious and whatnot. Dean rolled his eyes at him but didn’t spoil the surprise for Little Sammy. Though when the boy gasped sharply when the cloud of black swarmed Cas, Dean did whisper, “It’s okay.”

Cas returned proudly with his prize, bowing low as he presented it to Little Sammy.

“For you, Sir Stump.”

Little Sammy’s eyes were wide as dinner plates as he took the jar. “‘N’ you didn’ get stung at all?”

Cas shook his head, grinning. “Not once. Never have.”

“He’s a bee charmer,” Dean added. The boy stared between Cas and the jar of golden honey, starstruck until Cas gave him a gentle nudge.

“Go ahead, try some.”

Little Sammy stuck a finger in the jar and scooped a little taste out, sucking the sweet treat off with his eyes closed and a hum of happiness. “Wow.”

“Same stuff we use at the cafe,” Dean told him, “but it tastes so much better when it’s this fresh. Now gimme some a that, we got biscuits to go with it.”

Little Sammy handed it over, still basking in the afterglow of the taste. Dean went immediately for his own taste before pulling out the biscuits, his own hum and smile reflecting his son’s.

“Nifty.”

They were happy. All was well. They could live happily ever after now.

But that fall Dean lost his appetite. And it being Dean everyone knew immediately something was terribly wrong. But by the time Dr Harvelle had a look at him he said the cancer was so bad Dean only had a couple weeks. They moved him to the Novak house and set him up in the master bedroom so he’d be more comfortable. Missouri came with him and never left his side, taking care of his medicine and such. Cas just prayed for a miracle.

He looked awful. Face pale and clammy, eyes half shut out of sheer exhaustion. Cas felt so guilty for it but he didn’t want to see Dean like this. It scared him.

But he spent as much time with him as he could anyway. It wasn’t as much as he would like--he had Sammy to take care of and the cafe to run--but he knew he was running out of time. However much he hated to admit it.

Cas would sit on the edge of the bed, picking at the quilt Dean was huddled under, and try his best to look like he wasn’t falling apart. He wasn’t sure if Dean was fooled.

“Cas, listen to me.”

Cas looked up. He got the feeling from the look on Dean’s face that Dean had been trying to get his attention for a few moments now. Dean reached over to take the hand that had been picking at the loose strands of string. Cas winced internally at how much effort that seemed to take.

“Make sure he graduates. ‘N’ that he asks that Moore girl on a date or two. ‘N’ don’ let him come to the funeral. I don’ want him goin’ through that mess.”

Cas scoffed weakly. “Would you quit talkin’ like that? What funeral? You’re gonna be just--”

“Cas.”

He looked so tired. He looked so much older than he should’ve too. And there was this hint of sadness in those green eyes. Cas snapped his mouth shut.

Dean looked like he was about to say something more but instead of words a great hacking cough burst through his lips. He turned away from Cas, letting go of his hand and covering his mouth. Missouri hurried over from where she’d been waiting in the corner with a hanky and some medicine. Cas felt like he was watching Sam Senior get hit by that train all over again. Just this time it was more drawn out.

The door to the bedroom opened just then and Little Sammy walked in, plopping down into a chair with a huff and a little black raincloud hovering over his head.

“What’s wrong, Sammy?” Dean asked hoarsely.

Sammy only shrugged miserably. Cas looked quickly between him and Dean before standing up and stepping over to grip the boy hard by the shoulder.

“Let’s go for a walk, ‘kay Stump?”

As Cas lead Sammy back out of the room, closing the door behind him he caught a glance of Dean’s expression, gratitude leaking through the ever present fatigue.

Outside, a little walk away from the house, sitting on a log by the lake, Cas and Little Sammy had a conversation. Sammy’s baseball bat was propped up on against the log, mit sitting in his lap.

“You get in a fight?”

Sammy sniffed and wiped at his mouth irritably. “Got punched in the nose. I can’t play like everyone else.” He batted at the pinned up sleeve on his left side like it was a particularly persistent skeeter.

Cas honestly had no idea how to handle this. Dean was always the one taking care of Little Sammy, making sure he brushed his teeth, washed behind his ears, didn’t have mud stains on his knees. Cas just made sure the kid didn’t kill himself on accident and went to bed at a halfway decent time.

“I ever tell you the story ‘bout the oysters? All the millions of ‘em lyin’ ‘round--”

“‘N’ God put a piece of sand in one ‘n’ it turned into a beautiful pearl, yeah.”

Cas blinked at him. “Oh. Well. How ‘bout the one ‘bout the dog?”

“Three legs, never felt sorry for itself, I’m sure smarter than a dumb dog, yeah, you did.”

Cas stared. Little Sammy had no idea though, focused more on kicking at a small rock in the grass.

“You listen to everythin’ I say, don’ you?”

“Daddy gets mad when I don’.”

Cas felt a little queasy. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. Not without Dean.

“Well,” he said, swallowing hard. “You know ‘bout your daddy.”

“He’s sick.”

“Mmhm.” Cas couldn’t quite bring himself to confirm it with actual words. “See... see, now is the time for courage. I guess you already know there are angels masqueradin’ as people walkin’ ‘round on this planet ‘n’... your daddy’s the bravest one a ‘em.”

* * *

A couple days later Little Sammy came racing into the master bedroom, baseball bat clutched tight in his hand.

“Dad, I can hit!” he cried excitedly, coming up right next to the bed. Dean blinked a little frantically for a moment, trying to catch up with what was happening. Behind Sammy Cas walked in, leaning against the doorframe and smiling.

“You shoulda seen me!” the boy went on, eyes bright and wild. “Cas, he hit me in the back with a curve ball! I didn’ duck ‘n’ I hardly cried.”

“He hit you?” Dean echoed hoarsely, still trying to catch up. After a brief pause the jumble of words that had just bombarded him fell into place. “Well. He hit me once too, but I think I did cry.”

The smile on Cas’s lips faltered.

“Daddy...” Sammy said, suddenly somber. “‘M sorry you’re sad.”

Dean smiled as best as he could. “Gimme a kiss ‘n’ I’ll never be sad again.”

Sammy leaned forward obediently, kissing his father gently on the forehead.

“‘N’ you best not be sad neither,” Dean continued seriously. “You understand? You promise?”

Sammy nodded. “Promise.”

“Atta boy,” Dean said with a small grin. “Now you go ‘n’ wash up.”

Sammy left the room, a small bounce still in his step. There was a moment’s quiet, but it was interrupted harshly by another hacking round of coughs. Missouri scurried forward with the medicine, but Dean shook his head feebly. Missouri looked at him for a moment, searching his eyes for an explanation. Then she nodded and backed away.

“I leave you two ‘lone now.”

She left the room, closing the door as quietly and gently as possible. Cas started studying the wallpaper very closely.

“Hey there.”

Cas looked up to see Dean watching him imploringly.

“Will you do one thing for me?”

“Anythin’.”

“Be good to yourself. Even... even settle down if you can find someone who can deal with your sorry ass.”

Cas tried to laugh, but it came out as a weak little huff. He rubbed at his nose fiercely.

“There’s so... so many things I wanna say to you,” he said as steady as he could manage.

“I know,” Dean replied, voice just barely above a whisper. “Tell me one of your stories, Cas. I love your stories.”

Cas looked at him quizzically. Dean smiled, the realest smile Cas had seen from him in weeks.

“Go on, you old bee charmer. Tell me a good tall tale. Tell me... tell me the one about the fish.”

“What fish?” Cas asked, utterly confused.

“You know. The one that lived out in the river.” Dean shifted under the covers, getting into a more comfortable position.

“Oh, that. Well, that was just a lie.”

“I know that, fool,” Dean said with something that was probably supposed to be a chuckle. “Tell me anyway.”

Cas swallowed thickly. “Well. This one time, there was this... this angel. ‘N’ this angel was walkin’ down ‘long the river ‘n’ comes across this fish on the riverbank all gaspin’ and floppin’ around like.” He wandered over to the window, unable to look at the expression of pure content on Dean’s face.

“This angel sees this fish ‘n’ feels sorry for it ‘cause it’s there dyin’ ‘n’ so he’s gonna step on it. Put it outta it’s misery ‘n’ all, right? But then the angel’s brother shows up...”

Cas could see the lake where he and Little Sammy had had that conversation the other day, water sparkling cheerfully in the sunlight. He watched as a flock of ducks settled down in the water, what seemed like hundreds and thousands of them. Cas blinked as his vision went a little blurry. It didn’t help. He rubbed at his eyes furiously with the back of his hand.

“Don’t step on that fish, the brother said. Big plans for that fish.”

A train whistled in the distance.

Cas turned back to look towards Dean, confused when there was no routine “what kind a plans, Cas?”. Dean seemed unnaturally still. Cas took a couple tentative steps closer to the bed.

“Dean?” he whispered, voice breaking.

Dean’s face was paler than it had been just a moment ago. Cas bit back the wrecked sound clawing at his throat.

“Dean.” His voice was hoarse.

There was no response.

Missouri heard the sob and diligently went about covering the mirrors and stopping the clocks. She stood behind Castiel and murmured soothingly, letting the covers of the bed soak in salty tears.

* * *

A couple months after, the second great war started. Cas and Sammy listened intently to the radio that evening telling them all about the attack at Pearl Harbor. Soon Cas switched the radio off and told Little Sammy to head to bed. That was enough excitement for one day, he said. Of course, Little Sammy wasn’t so little anymore, but he was still an 11-year-old boy and wanted desperately to go overseas. Be like his granddad and fight. But even if Cas would’ve allowed it, and even if Sammy had been old enough, there was no way the army would let a one-armed boy go fight. So Cas and Sammy helped out with the war effort any way they could at home. Sammy wanted to drop out of school and to join the labor forces, but Cas remembered his promise to Dean to make sure the boy graduated. And he wasn’t about to break that promise, war or no war.

Soon after the war ended, and soon after Little Sammy finally graduated, he moved out and got married to the nice blonde girl from school, Jessica Moore. They left Whistle Stop and moved north. By then most of the town had already moved on. Missouri had passed away a few years ago, and Big Victor had gone to live in Illinois with his kids. Benny had gone and joined the Navy during the war and had gone missing. Charlie had moved to New York and was apparently living the dream. All of the older Novak children had moved away to bigger and better things. Whistle Stop was a ghost town. The world forgot and the world moved on. That was the end of the story.

But you’re still wondering if Cas actually killed Aby Sands, I can tell. The problem is, no one really knows. I suspect Aby Sands was the only one who did, and you know the saying. Dead men tell no tales. ...Or women, rather.

Though... Missouri did tell a story to her niece on her deathbed, a story she’d never told before, and her niece never told a soul. It was a story about the night Aby Sands disappeared.

So Aby Sands came into town that night. Dean was at Charlie’s, Cas was backstage at the Town Follies, and Missouri and her granddaughter were watching over baby Sammy as they cleaned up the cafe for the night. Aby Sands came storming into the cafe, door banging against the wall with a crack. Missouri recognized what was happening right away and started screaming at Big Victor’s little girl to go get help. Aby Sands backhanded the poor old woman, and Missouri fell to the floor with a thud.

Little Sammy started screaming the moment the door hit the wall. Aby paid no mind to the small one’s protests partially hidden by the train that was screeching through the town. And she must’ve not noticed the little girl sitting in the stall. Probably thought Missouri was crazy yelling at someone who didn’t exist. People like Aby Sands don’t have much respect for people like Missouri. By the time Aby Sands was storming out the cafe with the baby the little girl was gone, run to fetch her daddy.

Aby set the basket down in the dirt as she made to open the door to her truck. It was at that point that things stopped going her way.

“‘Cuse me, ma’am. I don’ believe you oughta be goin’ anywhere with Mista Dean’s baby.”

Aby turned around to see a rough looking man wobbling up to her. Chuck looked about as drunk as a loon though so she merely shoved him away and turned back to the truck. Chuck stumbled backwards wildly, landing hard on his ass. Dazed and a little bewildered by the sudden and unexpected movement, it took Chuck a moment to regain his senses.

But just as Aby’s fingers closed around the door handle she heard a sound behind her. As if something heavy had hit a tree stump that had been covered with a quilt. The sound she had heard was that of a five pound skillet hitting her own thick red hair a fraction of a second before her skull split open. She was dead before she hit the ground, and Missouri was already scooping up the screaming baby.

“Towanda.”

Chuck struggled back to his feet, frowning down at the figure crumpled in the dirt. “I told you you ain’ goin’ nowhere with Mista Dean’s baby.”

Missouri was already storming back to the cafe, shushing the child. Chuck scrambled after her. It was only a few moments later that Big Victor and his little girl, as well as Cas, showed up. Missouri, calm as can be, explained what had happened.

“It was self defense!” Cas exclaimed, now holding the sleeping baby and rocking him perhaps a little too harshly out of pure agitation.

“Don’ know why any white jury would care why I did it,” Missouri responded grumpily.

“Well I saw it,” Chuck offered. “‘N’ I can testify.”

“‘Cuse me,” Big Victor interrupted gently. “I don’ mean no offense here, but I don’ know who’s less likely to convince a jury: my momma or Mista Chuck here.”

“No offense taken,” Chuck said quietly.

“You a good man, Mista Chuck,” Big Victor assured him. “You done good.”

It was quiet between the four adults. Big Victor glanced out the window.

“It be light soon.”

Quiet again. Then Cas looked up. “Victor.”

“Mmhm?”

“I think... it’s hog-boilin’ time.”

Big Victor frowned at Cas, utterly baffled. “Nosuh. It ain’ cold ‘nuf.”

Cas shook his head a little wildly. “No, listen. It’s hog-boilin’ time.”

* * *

That next morning most of the town was running business as usual. That Crowley man was on his way in to talk to Sheriff Lafitte about a missing woman, Dean and Missouri were cooking up a storm in the back of the cafe, and Big Victor was stirring the contents of the big black iron pot. Sure, it was a little early in the year but not too soon. Cas came out back where Big Victor was, casually nodding a good morning.

“Chuck left town,” Big Victor told him in an undertone. “Felt it would be best under the circumstances.”

Cas nodded. “Shame he had to go.”

* * *

Later on that day as Fergus Crowley finished another plate of barbecue and Missouri came by to take it away, Cas was sitting hidden away in a booth a little ways away. The cafe was fairly empty at that point, the afternoon lull between lunch and supper, so Cas could hear every word that was said.

“Why, this is just ‘bout the best damn barbecue I ever had!”

A pause, just a hitch, then Missouri, god bless the woman: “Secret’s in the sauce!”

Cas wasn’t sure whether to laugh or hurl.

* * *

Years later some official important person decided it was time for the house where Castiel Novak grew up to be taken down. A couple of men were working late on the project one day and started digging up a whole bunch of chicken skulls. One of these men had grown up in the South, raised in a family that had lived there for generations, so was easily able to explain the small and brittle skulls. The one human skull, however, he had no explanation for.

* * *

If you drive through Whistle Stop, Alabama today you might not notice. Though if you pay real close attention you’ll see a couple of old houses, a couple of old buildings. The train doesn’t run through anymore. There’s still words painted on the windows of the old cafe, peeling and worn: FRIED GREEN TOMATOES. There’s a crack just below the double e’s. If you happen to pass through, stop by the old cemetery. You’ll see generations of Novaks there, and a bunch of other old families from the town. You’ll see that stone for Little Sammy’s arm, SO LONG OLD PAL.

And right next to that you’ll see a grave marked,

DEAN WINCHESTER

1904-1939

FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS

And chances are that right there, sitting by that unassuming grave, you’ll see a jar of fresh honey and a note.

I’ll always love you.

Your Bee Charmer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to My Bee Charmer.
> 
> With Love,
> 
> Your Honeybee


End file.
